Frisson
by tripodion
Summary: You missed it didn't you? The frisson. The feeling of falling you get during the Kick. The feeling you got when you kissed her. The rush of a heist. Gets addicting doesn't it? But beware, because it will kill you someday. And that day is getting closer.
1. Castling

He had always woken up alone. At 7 AM exactly, no exceptions, no hitting snooze, not even for an illness. Always. Then he'd take a shower, get dressed, do his hair, have breakfast and read the paper, in that order, although all the things were done in the typically precise way of a middle-aged businessman, not of a man in his twenties. He didn't have any current plans on changing that routine any time soon either, even with Cobb's clever little _en __passant _of making the pawn a bishop, something Arthur had never expected. Cobb said it was the only way Arthur would ever talk to a woman. Sneaky bastard.

Just as he had finished skimming the sports page and before he was able to skip the comics for his favourite section, business, his phone rang. He glanced blankly down at the unknown caller ID.

"Arthur here."

"Arthur! Oh, thank god!" He flinched back from the voice, yelling through a blare of static.

"Ariadne?"

"Yes, yes, it's me!" Her frantic tone was making him uncomfortable. "Arthur, I need your help!" He was already standing before she finished her sentence, his mind whirring with possibilities of what she could have possibly gotten herself into.

"What is it? What happened?"

"I can't talk too long. Just get to the Sirin warehouse, on the corner of East and Downing. And please get here quick."

He was out of the door before the line went dead.

* * *

The Sirin Incorporated warehouse was, as expected, nothing special. Ordinary, unassuming gray building, with grimy windows and seedy surroundings. It was one of the numerous ugly ducklings on the abandoned street as opposed to the majestic corporate headquarters downtown, whose only purpose was to be seen by everyone, visitors and bystanders, and to show off the wealth of the company. This building, however, was only privileged to the purpose of storage, and meant to be seen by the unfortunate few who worked there.

Arthur had no problem getting in, since it had been abandoned for years. He wandered through the empty crumbling lobby, the corpses of fallen ceiling tiles crunching underfoot, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the birds above. The silence was anything but comforting.

"Ariadne?" He called out, his voice echoing in the quiet. He paused before he rounded the corner, reaching back for his gun, tucked behind his jacket. He froze when he touched nothing but the back of his shirt. "Shit…" He turned to go another way, around the back maybe, where he wouldn't be spotted so easily—

And had to duck almost immediately to avoid the fist flying at his face. As he swerved, he felt a needle jam into the back of his neck, and in his last moments of consciousness, chided himself for walking straight into a trap.

* * *

He awoke with his hands and feet handcuffed to a chair. He nearly sighed at the predictability of it all. Did really they think he couldn't get out of _handcuffs_? He reached for the bobby pin he always had on his shirtsleeve, only to find it gone. He looked around on the floor, the chair scraping against linoleum, and frowned as he saw it lying right in front of him, directly out of his reach. He glowered at it, as if all blame fell on the pin for his being stuck in a potentially inescapable position.

Right. He just had to rethink his options…

"Stuck now, are we?" Arthur paused a moment, then looked up at the man leaning against the doorway, his face covered by a ski mask.

"Not really. You just didn't give me enough time to finish." Arthur smirked and kicked the handcuffs to the man and stood. "What do you want?"

"What, you don't even want introductions?" Arthur's glare told him otherwise. "Because I think there's someone who wants to say hello." He motioned behind the wall, and a bloody Ariadne stumbled forward, hands cuffed behind her back.

"Ariadne!"

"Arthur!" She rushed forward and hugged him, or at least tried to. More or less, she ended up punching him in the stomach. He reached up to examine a gash on her face, but as soon as he touched her, she crumbled to dust, like she was made of brittle clay.

"Wh…what did you to do to her?"

"I didn't do anything, darling." That voice… he knew it sounded familiar.

"Eames?" There was a glimpse of a smile behind the ski mask, and the man pulled it back to reveal a shock of brown hair and cocky smile.

"Hello, darling."

"_What the fuck_, man? Why did you attack me? Where's Ariadne?"

"Had to get you out of the house somehow, didn't I? And she's alright. That was fake blood by the way. One of Yusuf's delicious concoctions." Eames smiled as he handed a small silver key to Arthur.

"You could've called me like any other normal person." Arthur said, rubbing his wrists as he dropped the handcuffs and they fell with a clatter to the ground in front of meticulously shined, uncuffed shoes. He followed Eames out into the weak sunlight, and they got into an unmarked van. "And why the hell did you handcuff me—?"

"Relax. The only way you'll get out of here is when the timer hits zero."

"Wh—I'm dreaming?"

"Of course…Tell me, how did you get to the warehouse, again?"Arthur thought a moment and groaned.

"Dammit." He cursed softly.

"Ah, you're getting rusty, darling."

"Why did you go through so much trouble just to get me—?"

"We had to get you to go along with us without a fight. This next extract looks like it's going to be dirty. Something that's hard to imagine Cobb agreeing to."

"Where is it?" Arthur asked, watching flat, dry red desert roll by.

"Oh, you'll see when you wake up. I expect Yusuf already has you loaded in the car. Poor chap, you must be heavy with all that ego."

"Is she with you?" Eames chuckled softly at his thinly guised interest.

"You should've known that answer as soon as you came in the building."

"She made that?"

"Of course. She _is_ one of the best."

"How did she do that crumble-to-dust trick?"

"Ah, now that's something she wanted to show you. She's been practicing since we broke up." Arthur felt his throat close.

"_We_? You and her were—?" Eames sighed in annoyance.

"The group, love, not her and I. Seems your infatuation's worse than I thought…"

"_Infatuation?_" Arthur colored. "Eames, you've finally gone round the bend—"

"I expect you'll want to see her now, yeah?" Arthur didn't answer, but stared at him with annoyance. "Right, well, best not keep her waiting." And with that, he swerved straight off the road and into a canyon.

* * *

**If you want to hear this storys "theme" song, listen to "Sun Gangs" by the Veils. Happy readings!**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to Inception. That's all thanks to Christopher Nolan.


	2. Breakneck Speed

Outside, it was raining.

Fat droplets of water pinged then slid down the windows, rushing against one another to reach the ground first.

Arthur awoke on a cheap cot in an empty room with an impairing headache, like someone had filled his head with pins and shook as hard as they could. It had been nearly a month since his last Descent and, though he would never say it, Eames had been right, in a way. He _had_ gotten rusty. He thought that, if he spent enough time awake, he could tell the difference when he was asleep. Eames had probably been jumping to prove him wrong.

He slipped his dice from his pocket and tossed it. Six. Good, he was awake, at least for the moment.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway.

"Ariadne." He stood and she smiled, stepping forward. She didn't look any different, her hair was, perhaps, a bit longer, but otherwise she looked like she had the last day he had seen her. "You are the _real_ Ariadne, right?" She nodded and there was a beat of silence. "I liked your trick. Well, maybe not _immediately_, but looking back, it was quite clever."

"Thank you." He hadn't realized until that moment how much he had missed her voice. A shy smile tugged at the corner of her lips. They both could feel the wear of each other's month long absence. "I thought you might be mad."

"At first, I suppose I was. But then again, I didn't know I was dreaming. I thought—well—" Ariadne started with realization, a frown growing on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry or upset or anything-"

"It's alright, Ariadne. It was a good trick, something you're going to have to teach me someday. And it made me realize the rookie's grown on me too much." He smiled and ruffled her hair.

"What have you been up to?" She sat down on the cot and he smiled at her familiarity, sitting next to her, although at a small, respectable distance.

"Oh, living the quiet life."

"Newspaper and business section every morning, huh?" He laughed quietly.

"Did you also learn how to teleport into my apartment?"

"Well, Miles does have some tricks up his tweed sleeve."

"Is he doing alright?"

"He came back about a week after Cobb came home. Before you do, I asked about him too. Miles said he's doing fine, that he's glad to be with his kids, safe and peaceful. He's got a lot of time to make up for."

"So he's not coming back?" Ariadne looked at him for a moment, recognized the buried hope in his voice, and smiled sadly, resting her hand on his.

"I don't think so. Not for this case, at least." She looked down at his hand, traced the faintly raised veins for a moment, before catching the golden glint on his finger. "Oh, Eames wanted to tell you himself, but I'd like to spare you the embarrassment and him the satisfaction."

"And what did Eames want to lord over me this time?" Ariadne held up her left hand, a simple gold band lacing around her finger.

"You and I are, um...well, we're married." He stared at her for a moment, shocked to the point of speechlessness. She smiled sheepishly. "Surprise!"

* * *

Yusuf sighed as he stared at the dated computer screen.

"Still no luck?" Eames asked, leaning forward.

"He asks for the impossible." He took off his glasses and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This simply cannot be done."

"Are you sure?"

"87 percent. I've got a few more chemicals to test, but it isn't looking very good."

"He won't take no for an answer."

"I know." He sighed and Eames stared through a grimy window into the pitch black night.

"There is that one bloke Miles told us about, in Ariadne's class—"

"Miles said he was to be used as an absolute last resort."

"We're running out of options, here. Looks like he's going to be one."

"This doesn't bode well if we call for help this quickly."

"Ah, it's one setback. Live a little, Yusuf. People have made worse mistakes." Yusuf sighed.

"We'll call in the morning."

"You shouldn't stay awake until then."

"Oh, but I will. As I said, he will be a _last _resort. And for that to happen, I need to use all the other resorts first."

"Get some sleep, Yusuf. You'll be no use to us if you're asleep all the time."

* * *

"_Married_?"

"Well, not in the legal sense." Ariadne smiled.

"What?"

"Oh, well, you know I just had Eames tie you up and we had a little ceremony, but you never actually said 'I do'–" She caught his shocked face. "Kidding! I'm kidding!"

"Oh, thank god." The two laughed. "So this is a prop?" He asked, staring down at his ring.

"Yep, just for show."

"Cobb said that when I got married, it'd be the best day of my life. I didn't realize I'd be unconscious." Ariadne smiled. "Do we have aliases?"

"Of course. But I think Eames should tell you that. He's also going to fill you in on the Mark. So you can, you know, do your job."

"Oh, please, not that." She smiled and stood, crossing her arms. He noticed she was back to wearing her old ratty cardigan, two sizes too big; the one she always wore when she booked long nights at the office.

"Missed you, Arthur." He smiled.

"I missed you too. But I could live without Eames."

"I heard that!" Cried a faint voice from the other room. "Come on lovebirds, time to brief in Sleepy, the 7th Dwarf."

"Welcome back, Arthur." Ariadne smiled, and held out a hand to help him up. He took it, feeling their rings graze each other with a faint metallic _clink_.

"Good to be back. Didn't know I'd have to get married to do it, though." She laughed and walked from the room, leading him by their still clasped hands.

* * *

**I don't know if I can communicate this exactly, but when I logged on to my email and saw that I had **_**54**_** messages regarding this story, I think I may have lost my mind for a moment. That has never happened before, and it is the best feeling in the world. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you all are absolutely fantastic!**


	3. Cairo

_**"It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you." - Chopin**_

* * *

_She was the Eye._

_Center of the storm, bud of the rose. Sand and dust flew around her in the vortex, but she felt comforted by the presence, felt peace in that whirlwind of chaos._

"_I need you to fall apart." She felt his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. His breath was warm in her ear. "Pretend that you are made of sand, ten million grains in each hand, one million in each finger. A breeze is coming. There's no way to stop it; nowhere to hide. Now…_

_Drift away."_

Ariadne woke with a start, Brer's voice echoing in her head. She sat in the silence of the room for a moment, cold sweat trickling down her neck as she held her head in her hands.

The day she'd long feared had arrived.

Her dreams were turning into memories and she knew how all of them ended. No longer would she be taken by surprise in a nightmare or be taken away by her imagination like before. The Descent would be the only way she could ever dream, in every sense of the word. The only place she could let her imagination run wild, because now…

Her dreams were starting to slip away.

* * *

"Nice sleep, love?" Eames asked from the threadbare sofa as he fiddled with a small box that looked to be made of glass.

"Oh, the best one could have on a 5 dollar mattress." Ariadne sighed, and scratched her head. "Do we have any coffee?"

"Coffee? Don't you start turning American on me, darling. I offer _tea_. It's on the stove, just whistled."

"Great, thanks." She wandered into what could hardly be called a kitchen. She had just poured her tea when a voice sounded from the corner of the room.

"Long night?" She startled, nearly spilling her tea, and turned to see Arthur sitting at a rickety table, his seat leaned back against the wall. His eyes never left the paper, but she could practically see the smirk behind the business section.

"You know, if this extracting thing doesn't work out, you'd be excellent as a ninja."

"Too bad I'd be terrible with a sword. And unfortunately," He made a face. "Black isn't really my color." She smiled and sat next to him, thinking for a moment.

"You know what?"

"Well, since I _do_ know everything, yes."

"You _would_ be an excellent ninja."

"You know you just said that, right?"

"They travel from place to place, typically in disguise as civilians, and they try and steal valuable information."

"Yes, I'm quite the modern ninja. People take one look at me and fear for their lives." He said dryly.

"Say whatever you'd like, _Master _Arthur."

"The same can be said for your theory about actual spies, you know. James Bond, Jason Bourne, Ethan Hunt. People like that."

"Yeah…_actual _spies."

"Well, he definitely can't be a spy." Eames said as he walked in to refill his cup.

"Why not?" Arthur protested.

"Well, for one thing, he's not British."

"What does that have to do with anything? Americans can be spies."

"Not _good_ ones." Eames smiled and held up his mug. "Cheers!" He said, smirking as he strode from the room.

"What a charmer." Arthur huffed as he opened his paper once more, leaving the two to sit in comfortable silence.

"Listen, Arthur…" Ariadne paused, thinking, her voice soft and serious. "I know we kind of threw everything at you last night…Do you need any help clarifying—?"

"The Mark is Thomas Volstov, aged 55, from Tula, Russia. He's a businessman, estimated worth currently at $5.4 billion. He's also a philanthropist, and gives nearly half his annual salary in Russian government and charity donations, so the natives love him. Rumors are that he gets some of his revenue in mob connections, which is probably true.

Our Customer is anonymous, but now that I'm here, he probably won't stay that way. He wants us to get Thomas to dissolve some of his branches by first cutting his mob connections and then by going through his family…" Arthur paused, mulling over his words for a moment. "Which is why you didn't think Cobb would want in on this." Ariadne nodded.

"We didn't think it would be best."

"You were right. Family is a special thing once you've got it. Luckily, none of us do, so I suppose that makes it all the easier for us." Ariadne didn't answer and stared into her tea, tendrils of steam curling in the air.

"Do you think you'll still be doing this at Cobb's age—?"

"Of course."

"—if you have a family?" The question caught him off-guard.

"Well, considering my job, I don't think that's a potential prospect right now."

"Did you ever want one?"

"A family?" She nodded. "I suppose at one point, yes. All my friends up and got married right out of college, left me to be the third wheel at a lot of places. Left me to think about what would happen if—well, never mind. It's not important."

"Yes, it is." He stared at her for a moment.

"If I hadn't have met Cobb. If I hadn't have chosen _this_ life, where would I be now? The whole reason I joined Dom was because he needed a second wheel and if I didn't get there in time, I'd be left out. I still technically was, when Mal and his kids entered the equation."

"I'm sure he never thought of you as a third wheel."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean I wasn't one."

"You were his Point Man Arthur. He needed you. We need you. You're no third wheel here. That's why there are four of us. Even if you are third, there's still someone who's fourth."

"Your logic just stands all on its own, doesn't it?" Arthur smiled.

"When the moment calls for it."

"Alright, gents and Ariadnes, let's begin Operation Cairo." Eames called from the other room.

"Time to work." Arthur said, folding the paper and tossing it on the table, leaving behind two cooling cups of tea, his hands stained with newsprint.


	4. Burning Man

**"Logic is the art of going wrong with confidence" ****- Joseph Wood Krutch**

* * *

"At 9 am, every morning of every day, Volstov stops and buys _one_ newspaper. Just one, only one. One, one, one, one, one, all the time, every time. That's the most important thing to keep in mind right now for you, Ariadne." Eames said, pointing at her.

"Alright…so he buys two?" Eames sighed.

"That's enough out of you. Then, he goes to work, all the way on the penthouse floor. Has his own helicopter pad, see. His offices have 5 meeting rooms, 2 outdoor dining areas, a library, a common room, indoor dining room, a showroom, and two private offices, one for him and one for his vice president, Amsel. 13 rooms total. Clearly he thinks that he's above superstition. We need to strike during his commute, which usually lasts about 30 minutes—"

"30 minutes?" Arthur exclaimed. "Eames, are you _insane_? That wouldn't even give us half a day—"

"Always jumping to conclusions, Arthur…30 minutes to get him, get him hooked up, then get him to a remote location. A bit crude, and we'll have to plant a reason for his disappearance, but nothing you can't handle, darling."

"And Amsel?"

"What about him?"

"He'll sound the alarm once he sees that Volstov's missing."

"And this is coming from the assumption that they're close friends."

"They can't hate each other. They wouldn't be billionaires if they did."

"Well, you're the Point Man here. _You_ research him. Find his flaws, and he _will _have some. We'll get him out of the picture somehow. Yusuf, you said you had that special draft ready?" Yusuf nodded.

"It is in the preparatory stages, but it should be fully operational within 24 hours once it's had time to sit."

"Set that aside, we may need it with Amsel. Ariadne, how many bathrooms are there in Volstov's offices?" She sat for a moment, staring at him as she thought, tapping her lips with her pencil.

"There aren't any. Or if there are, they're insignificant because you didn't mention them."

"Very good. You'll go far, love." He patted her head. "There are 4, by the way. Two private, two public." Ariadne nodded.

"What about the family?" Arthur asked as he skimmed over his notes. "Volstov's."

"They shouldn't be too hard to get to. Once you get the proper research, I'm sure it'll be a walk in the park."

"What does the Client want us to do with the family?" Ariadne asked.

"'Expose Vladov for what he is. A wolf.'" Eames read from his portfolio. "That's all it says. Doesn't really give us a lot to go on, but I suppose we can use our imaginations."

"Where's the closest library?" Arthur asked, tapping his pen on his notepad.

"About two blocks from here going west."

"Great. I'm off." He stood to leave, collecting his things and putting them neatly away in his bag. "By the way, where are we? Somehow, you've neglected to tell me." Eames smiled.

"Cairo." Arthur seemed to take the news with good grace.

"Egypt. Great. Well, good job getting me on the plane at least."

"All thanks to Yusuf and his magic brews." Eames held his mug up to him in a salute.

"Why did the dream feel like it was only a few hours?"

"Oh, Yusuf's been up to all sorts of mischief these days."

"Right. Ariadne," She looked up from her notes. "Keep those two in check while I'm gone, will you?" She smiled and nodded. A ghost of a grin appeared at his mouth before it disappeared under his well practiced poker face. He turned, nodded to Eames and Yusuf, and left the room without another word.

Nearly two days had passed before he returned.

Ariadne sat on the tiled roof's ledge at the violet hour, underneath a twinkling sky, the warm summer air brushing through her hair, cars and people bustling below her feet despite the late hour. She took a deep breath and sighed. A glass of Egyptian wine sat beside her, droplets of cold moisture clinging to the glass from the balmy heat.

"Hey stranger." She nearly fell off the roof as Arthur climbed through the window and sat next to her.

"Hey, long time no see. I can't believe you lowered yourself to dirty your suit to get out here." He smiled, but his eyes were tired.

"As you can see, Ariadne, I don't think the dirt matters."

And he was partially right.

He looked a mess, his hair sticking up out of its normally precise order, his suit was crumpled and slept in, and his tie was halfway undone. She could even make out the start of a five o'clock shadow on his usually clean shaven face.

"What happened in that library, Arthur? Were you attacked or something?"

"No, I just didn't get much sleep. I was up all night researching Volstov. About 10 pages worth of notes."

"Do you want some tea?"

"No, thank you, it would just keep me up."

"Is there anything I can do for you? You look like you went through hell."

"Well, I survived." He seemed to sway on the spot.

"I think you need to go to bed right now." She moved to stand, when a burst of rising sun vaulted over the skyline and hit her square in the face. Arthur groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Come on Arthur, let's go." She looked at him, but he just sat where he was, staring at her with a peculiar look on his face. "Arthur? You alright?"

"You know, Ariadne…you're not-all that-bad looking…" He mumbled before passing out cold on the roof tiles.

* * *

"Well isn't that a sight?" Eames said, nearly giddy with joy as he looked down at Ariadne. "Imagine my surprise, just climbing onto the roof for a morning smoke, and then I find you two."

"It's not what it looks like." Ariadne said coolly, with a smile.

"Right, when does it ever?" He replied dryly, inhaling from his cigarette as he stared at the rising sun. "Mind telling me how you got like this?"

"I went outside last night. Just to enjoy the air, you know?" He nodded. "And then Arthur came in, almost past 4, and looking like he hadn't slept in days."

"Which, naturally, he hadn't, because he's Arthur."

"Yeah. And then...then he said I wasn't all that bad looking, and fell asleep, right there by the window."

"Hm. So, let me get this straight. You didn't sleep together-"

"Eames!"

"And besides, on the roof, I'd reckon that'd sting a bit. And clearly no funny business went on because you still look as pure as a saint. But I do have a question."

"Of course you do."

"How did he end up in your lap?" Ariadne looked down, at Arthur's face, peaceful in sleep, his eyes flickering beneath his lids.

"The roof looked uncomfortable."

"Ah, now we get down to the heart of it all. Your motherly instincts nearly kicked themselves in the arse at this golden oppourtunity."

"Yes, you caught me, Mr. Holmes. I was no match for your hard boiled and wily skills."

"Of course you weren't. Now, it's off to Scotland Yard with the lot of you." He finished his cigarette and threw it to the street below. "Wake Sleeping Beauty up, will you? I'm starved. But don't worry, you don't have to kiss him. Just smack him around some."

"I'm already up, you horse's ass." Arthur groaned, sitting up slowly.

"Good, the princess awakens!" Eames hit him none too roughly on the back. "Get yourself together, darling, we're off to have breakfast."

"Where's Yusuf?" Ariadne asked, brushing her pants.

"Oh, little bugger's already up and working. He left for the apothecary about thirty minutes ago."

"Apothecary?"

"I know! Can you believe they still have one? Old customs and such...Yusuf nearly lost his marbles. Apparently it was just what he needed to find." Eames climbed through the window, leaving Ariadne and Arthur out in the fiery morning sunlight.

"Ladies first." Arthur said, gesturing to the window.

"Why thank you, brave knight."

"Oh, and Ariadne?" He reached out and grabbed her wrist as she stepped through the window. Turning back to look at him, the breath was sucker punched out of her as she saw his face in the sun, his eyes set alight like coal in a fire. The burning man.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for being an excellent pillow."


	5. Three Secrets Badly

**"I want the concentration and the romance, and the worlds all glued together, fused, glowing: have no time to waste any more on prose." - Virginia Woolf**

* * *

"So, Arthur dear, what did you find out?" Eames asked, taking a sip of a drink he felt it wasn't too early to have; champagne and orange juice, a mimosa at 7 am.

"Volstov loves to play with fire. He's been accepting anonymous kickbacks for nearly a decade, I guess you could say it's protection money. He's been affiliated with the Bratva, the Russian mafia, and more specifically with the Volchyastaya, a branch centered in his native city. Once he was even brought to criminal charges, but evaded them at the last minute.

He's also a known womanizer, which is good news for his wife, Natalia. I'm not sure of how certain she is of his…activities, but he can't afford a divorce, he'd lose at least half of his holdings. He and Natalia have two children, Alice and Julien, ages 7 and 5. They're home schooled by highly exclusive tutors so they can be kept under constant surveillance.

There's also proof that Volstov cannot maintain close business relationships because of his disloyalty. He has a history of breaking up with business partners for others who offer him more. His ex-partners haven't painted him in the best of light, and his PR's certainly taken a hit."

"Do you think an ex-partner hired us?" Ariadne asked.

"Most likely. Although Volstov has made many enemies, but if someone wanted to hurt him, and knew how, it would be Amsel."

"And what did you find out about him?" Arthur smiled slyly.

"Mainly, that he has a weak heart."

"Oh, thank god." Eames laid his head in his hands and raised it with a smile on his face.

"What? What's going on? Why is that a good thing?" Eames laughed and a smile even broke out on Arthur's face, much to an utterly bemused Ariadne. She hit Eames on the shoulder. "Come on guys, someone let me in here!"

"It means that we've got this plan in the bag." Arthur said with a grin, and he and Eames clinked glasses.

* * *

"_That's_ what the plan is?" Ariadne asked, shocked, looking from one man to the other. "And you thought it'd be a great idea not to tell me or Yusuf?"

"Don't take it personal, darling, we started the plan without Arthur. It wouldn't be a _real_ job if we didn't keep some things from you."

"I wouldn't make it a habit." Ariadne said crossly. "How are we going to be a team if we all are keeping things from each other?"

"We all have our secrets, love."

"So did Cobb."

"Cobb…Cobb is a different story. He had too many."

"Right. Eames, so you really want another Mal on our hands?"

"She's right." Arthur spoke up.

"I—what?" Ariadne turned to him in surprise.

"You're right." He said unabashedly.

"Fine. You lot can share your naked in primary school dreams and your deep dark insecurities and Arthur can tell you all about the first time he felt a girl up, I don't give two damns. You all enjoy your stupid bonding sessions…you bloody women…" Eames stormed from the room, shutting the door with a bang.

"What did all that mean?" Ariadne said, looking up at Arthur, who had a dark look on his face, although he looked at her with a smile.

"It means that Eames' has the biggest skeleton in his probably well dressed closet."

"We won't really share all our secrets, will we? Just, you know, the important ones."

"Don't worry, I won't tell you about the first time I felt up a girl." They both smiled. "But you know, you _could_ tell me about those naked dreams." She rolled her eyes.

"Dream on, Cassanova."

"So I will…" He watched her walk away and smiled. "So I will."

* * *

Soft light filled the cramped room, two figures asleep on a pair of cheap cots on each side of the room, a set of eyes staring at the ceiling.

Strike that, one figure asleep.

Arthur snorted softly and rolled over to the wall, and Ariadne turned her eyes to him. She thought she had been dreaming when he came into the room in a dark green t-shirt and pajama pants, and was already reaching for her bishop at the sight of him out of a suit.

"Stare all you like, princess." That comment alone, and his smirk, had her rolling over on her uncomfortable cot to stare at the plastered wall.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, in the dead of night, she was left awake, disjointed thoughts running through her head. At some point, she thought of Cobb. He must be doing well, to have stayed away for nearly two months. She was happy for him. Happy that he had his life back, that he had his children and his home back. But that didn't change the fact that, sometimes, she missed him. Missed his calm, reassuring voice and his confidence. She had never had that. Always envied it, though. Envied the way that Cobb and Arthur and Eames always seemed so sure of themselves, of their plans. That was why she had a soft spot for Yusuf. His tentative nature and cautious approach made her feel safer with her own doubts and inferior feelings around the group.

Her intelligence had always driven people away. It must've intimidated them, she supposed. She didn't have the self-assurance or the honesty to tell herself otherwise. She had always thought of herself as an easy-going person, maybe tenacious at times, but agreeable nonetheless. Sometimes she wondered exactly how she came off to other people, but their acceptance didn't really hold much weight in her mind. Although, she _was _beginning to rethink that option with her co-workers…

"Ariadne?" She was startled out of her thoughts and turned to look at Arthur, who was staring at her across the room from where he lay on his pillow.

"What if I had been asleep?" He shrugged.

"I don't repeat myself often."

"Well? What do you want at" She checked her watch. "3:55 am?"

"I want to know how you learned how to crumble to dust."

"What?"

"That trick you learned to get me here." He propped up his head, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"Oh…you want to learn it at 4 am?"

"As good a time as any."

"Right." She swung her feet onto the floor. "Well, let's pretend you're made of sand–"

"Ariadne, why would you possibly want to teach me here, where it's physically impossible to dissolve myself, when there's a perfectly good Ladder in the other room, waiting to be used?" He asked and she sighed.

"I guess you're right. Why would I want to teach you at 4 in the morning when I could be sleeping? Guess I'll just go back to sleep—" She lay back down and rolled over.

"Wait." A smile crept on her face from his voice. "I'll tell you a secret if you teach me that trick."

"I don't know, Arthur, I'm really tired…maybe if you told me three, I might have the energy—"

"Two. And that's it. I don't want to learn it 'three secrets' badly." She didn't answer, and he took it as a confirmation and sighed, bracing himself. "I went to both my high school proms alone—"

"That's not a secret, per se—"

"After asking six different girls."

"_SIX_?"

"Keep your voice down." He admonished, but he could see her smile in the dark, and he felt a grin creep on his face at her surprise.

"Seriously? Six different girls said no?"

"Yes."

"To _you_?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"You may be surprised, but I wasn't always this good looking."

"Is that secret number 2?"

"No. Secret Number 2 is that I've never felt a girl up." Silence. Then…

"You're joking."

"No, I'm quite serious. Besides, you know I don't joke."

"But…you're, you know… _you_."

"And?"

"I—"

_Do you know what it is to be a lover? A half of a whole?_

She still dreamt of those words, Mal's words. Thought of them every time Arthur got that challenging look in his eyes. That look that dared her to get closer to the flame, to finish her sentences the _right_ way, the way they both knew it ended. And it scared her, it scared the hell out of her.

"I thought some women liked the arrogant types." She finished weakly.

"Apparently, not as many as you may think."

"Alright, so that's two secrets. Time to hold up my end." She sighed, standing up, but Arthur remained where he was, lounging on his bed. "Come on, I said I'd teach you. You can't have given me those secrets and not wanted me to—"

"Finish your sentence, Ariadne."

"What?"

"Say what you were going to say, before you changed your mind."

"What was I going to say when?"

"You know. I'd like the uncensored version, please."

"Arthur, you're looking for something that's not there. Now come on—" He stood, suddenly towering over her and she felt her resolve start to collapse. He reached out and took her hand loosely in his, squeezing the base of her fingers.

"Why are you so adamant that you keep your feelings in the dark?"

"I don't know what you're…talking about."

"Yes, I think you do." He leaned closer to her, dark eyes examining hers. She could feel his breath on her ear, smell the clean cotton of his collar. "Quick...gimme a kiss." He whispered in her ear and backed away to look at her.

"Arthur…" She seemed to sway on the spot…what the hell was wrong with her? And what was he doing? They were co-workers, sure, not at an office or anything, but still, what right did he have to assume that he could just—just—

"Come on, you loafer." She gripped his hand and lead him from the room, missing the split second where a disappointed look reigned on his face. By the time she looked back, it was gone, replaced by a self-smug smirk.

* * *

A hot, dry wind swept through the plains, waves of heat rising through the air, distorting the horizon like a fun house mirror.

The town was deserted, crumbling in its grave, windows shot out from the buildings and dust blowing through the streets.

"A true piece of crap." Arthur muttered. "You couldn't have imagined anything better?"

"I could've…but this is where Br—where I learned the trick."

"Any particular reason?"

"Other than the fact that I can't produce projections here, no. Oh, I need you to wear this." She untied her scarf and handed it to him.

"Like an ascot or something? I have to say, that's not really my style…"

"No, like a blindfold."

"Hm. Kinky."

"Just shut up and put it on." He laughed skeptically, but tied the scarf on. "And the landscape is the least of your worries. I think you'll survive if everything isn't all brushed metal and glass sculptures."

"So says you." He huffed, and she smirked at seeing a paisely print scarf on his face.

"You look ridiculous...do you know what we're going to do?"

"Pin the tail on the donkey. Piñata bashing. I don't know. Olly olly oxen free." She rolled her eyes.

"I need you to fall apart." She put her hands on his shoulders. Her breath tickled his ear. "Pretend that you are made of sand, ten million grains in each hand, one million in each finger." She paused, feeling the wind pushing toward her. "A breeze is coming. There's no way to stop it; nowhere to hide. Now…" She leaned closer, her lips inches from his ear. "Drift away."

For a moment, there was silence and heat and wind. Then sand started to scatter on the breeze, and his left hand crumbled into the air. She untied his blindfold.

"Nothing happened." Arthur said, looking at her with a boyish disappointment.

"Look." She motioned to his hand and his eyes widened.

"Wh—how?"

"I'm not sure yet. When Miles mentioned it to me, he said it had something to do with mentality and concentration. Even he wasn't sure."

"How many times did it take for you to learn?" She paused, thinking.

"A lot…luckily, I had a great teacher who said I learned quicker than anyone else."

"Miles?" She didn't answer, but stared into the shimmering heat in the distance.

"Come on, let's try again." He looked at her, then sighed and slipped his makeshift blindfold back on, ready to hear her voice in his ears again.


	6. Torrent

"Argh!" Arthur ripped off the blindfold and sat on a boulder, watching with a fierce agitation as his arm reformed.

"Arthur, calm down. I didn't learn it the first time either—"

"Why isn't it working?"

"I—I don't know…maybe you're distracted or something. I had to have full concentration for it to work, and it took nearly three times—"

"I've had _five_, Ariadne." She recognized the bitter disappointment in his voice all too easily and sat beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur, that doesn't make you a failure. Here, let's change the scenery." She stood, surveyed the desolate shell of a town for a moment, then walked forward to where the road bent downward and pulled the shimmering distance aside like a sliding door, revealing a crisp, green forest, birds chirping in the trees above. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting green shadows on the ground.

Ariadne sighed contently.

"That's more like it."

* * *

"I think you can concentrate now." She smiled, removing his blindfold. Cool, damp wind blew Arthur's hair back out of its usually impeccable hairstyle, leaving it a ruffled and disheveled mess much more akin to someone his age and not a middle aged businessman.

"Ariadne…I think you overblew it."

"No such thing. And the projections can't get up here. Unless you'd really like for them to push you off before you've learned the trick."

"No thank you." He looked down.

Ariadne had taken him to a bleach white cliffside, water rushing nearly two stories below them, fresh mountain air heavy with the smell of pine and dirt swirling around them. He took a deep breath and tied the scarf around his eyes once more.

"I need you to fall apart." She said, circling him. "You are made of sand, ten million grains in each hand, one million in each finger. A breeze is coming. There's no way to stop it; nowhere to hide—"

He disappeared before she could finish, dissolving into the wind and appearing a few feet away.

A beat of shocked silence.

"You did it!" She said, smiling, and rushed forward to congratulate him. He met her halfway, taking her in his arms and hugging her, an exhilarated laugh escaping him.

Unfortunately for them, he had reappeared near the edge of the cliff. As Ariadne leapt into his arms, he lost his footing and the two were sent tumbling back into the torrent below.

The shocked silence of freefall. For a brief second, their eyes met and he could see the excited fire in hers, the security of knowing that they couldn't be hurt. He tightened his grip on her hand as they reached the water.

The river was colder than Arthur had presumed. He felt the current start to rip Ariadne away from him and he strengthened his hold.

She surfaced before him with a gasp, already laughing before he even broke through the water. As soon as the melodic sound hit his ears, it became infectious and Arthur found himself laughing too, and the sight of his hair in his eyes made her laugh harder.

They collapsed on the rocky shore, sitting on stones that had spent the day baking in the heat. They sat in silence for a moment as their laughter subsided.

"See? You just had to concentrate."

"Believe me, I am." He leaned closer. He could feel her breath on his cheek, warm, as water trickled down their faces. She was so close, all he had to do was—

* * *

They both jolted awake, the timer began beeping incessantly, like a siren rousing them to reality. Yusuf stood above them, his face covered in sweat and fear, two cables dangling from his hand.

"We have to leave, right now."

"What? Why?" Ariadne asked groggily, not able to bring herself to look beside her. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment reflected in their eyes.

"Eames went out last night and had…one too many drinks." Yusuf huffed as he dragged an unconscious Eames inside. "I ran into him after he had been thrown out and—and he said he had talked too much."

"What did he say?"

"He kept mumbling about Volstov and Amsel and tachycardia. And I'm sure that what he said to me, he said to the men in the bar. And one of them—"

"Had his mouth stitched shut." Arthur and Yusuf said in synchronicity.

"Fuck!" Ariadne had never heard Arthur curse before, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Ariadne, go pack your stuff. We have to leave, now." He didn't look at her before he turned and began packing the Ladder, carefully wrapping the connecting tubes and placing them next to the detonator.

"Where are we going?" Arthur looked at Yusuf, who nodded, and sighed.

"We have to skip Step 1, thanks to that unconscious prick. We're going to Altenstadt, Germany."

"Altenstadt? Why?"

"Because we'll find Amsel there."


	7. St John

"**I like to work with glitter…don't worry, I make tough stuff, like daggers and skulls…Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies…oh damn, here comes the sun, flare up!" – Demetri Martin**

**Because I think that deep, meaningful quotes get a little vanilla sometimes.**

**Ellie – I think that may be the first time in my memory that anyone's ever said thank you to me on FF. So, in turn, I thank you for your wonderful thank yous.**

* * *

The plane ride was one of the tensest moments in her life.

Arthur stared angrily at Eames, who was too out of it with his hangover to notice or care. In fact, he was so incoherent that he didn't really seem to know what was going on at all, much less that he was the sole cause and focus of Arthur's wrath. Yusuf stared anxiously out the window as though the clouds themselves would attack them and Ariadne just sat in her own silence, tipping her bishop over occasionally out of boredom. Finally, sick of the tense, silent anger, she put her headphones on and went to sleep.

When she awoke what seemed like minutes later, the plane was blanketed in night. She sat up and stretched, then noticed her music player was in Arthur's hand, and that he had moved to sit beside her at some point in the night. Eames was snoring softly against Yusuf, who was listening to something on his laptop, oblivious to the small stream of drool leaking on his shirt.

"I didn't know you listened to Rachmaninoff." Arthur said quietly, staring down at the screen.

"Only when I go to sleep. Although the other day I did play him while I was cleaning."

"I always liked him…although DeBussy is better if you want to sleep."

"Yeah, he'd put me straight to sleep, alright. At least Rachmaninoff _lulls_ you to sleep. Debussy just does it outright out of boredom."

"What? How can you say that?"

"Um…I think I just did."

"Debussy was the greatest pianist of his generation! Sure, Rachmaninoff had his strong points, but no one wrote a better composition than Debussy."

"Really? All that piano kind of makes me itch after a while. And Rachmaninoff practically revolutionized Romanticized Russian music! And Debussy… well, I always thought that Chopin was the better pianist anyways."

"What? Are you tone deaf or something? They should rename his albums to 'Chopin: Songs to Torture Me To, Preferred by 9 out of 10 Sadists Everywhere.'" He scoffed and looked through her music, something she always felt was a violation. She could nearly hear him judging her. "Ah, here we go. Edith Piaf. What do you think of her?"

"Well, obviously the troubled artist type, but she had some really good music—"

"Oh, of course, because you're French you think she's Blessed Mary herself."

"Firstly, I was in France on a student visa, and even if I was French, I would say she's only about a St. John."

"But she made it into the 12 Disciples."

"Of course she did!"

They went on the rest of the flight in comfortable arguments, barely noticing as the night grew fainter and the watery dawn appeared. All questions of the earlier events of the day seemed to be buried under, forgotten about, in lieu of favorable companionship and lighthearted teasing. With every word, each found themselves being bound closer to the other as if each sentence shot an invisible cord and hooked itself somewhere deep inside, permanent, indelible, as if it would withstand time itself.

And thus, it marked the first moment where their friendship had waded into deeper waters and it would get harder and harder to swim back to shore.

* * *

The plane landed.

They dragged Eames off.

And took him to the coffin sized loo in the airport of Altenstadt, Germany.

As Arthur looked down at the groggy Brit, he felt all the anger that Ariadne had dabbed away return. Not a day ago they were in Egypt, ready to start the operation, and then Eames had to get drunk off his ass and make them scramble for the next safe place, tails between their legs.

"Eames..._what the fuck where you thinking?_" He asked, hitting the man none too roughly on the back of the head. Eames coughed, and promptly vomited on the floor. Ariadne made a disgusted noise and leapt onto the toilet to avoid the puddle of sick.

"Arthur, wait." Yusuf held up a hand. "I think there's blood."

"What?"

Yusuf had already turned to his bag of bottles and tonics, searching frantically through the carefully labeled bottles before pulling out a rose colored medicine.

"I got this from the apothecary in Cairo. He said we might need it." Without asking for approval, he tipped Eames' head back and poured the thick liquid down his throat. Eames took a deep rattling breath then vomited once more onto the floor and passed out. Yusuf checked his pulse and shone a light in each of his eyes. "Eames wasn't drunk, at least not completely. He was poisoned."

"Will he be alright?" Ariadne asked, staring in shock at Eames, who was still pallid and unmoving.

"Yes, I think so." Yusuf said quietly. "I'm sorry, Arthur, Ariadne. When I saw him outside of the bar, I just assumed he was drunk, I had no idea—"

"It's fine, Yusuf." Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You acted quickly, that's what matters. Although, he spent a 15 hour flight with that in his system, plus the night before."

"Should we get him to a hospital?" Ariade asked.

"No…no, I think that medicine did the trick. And that trip would only hinder us…not to mention draw attention. Whoever did this knew who Eames was. They knew he was a Forger."

"You said something last night about a man with a stitched mouth. What does that—?"

"Shh!" Arthur cut her off. "Not here. We'll tell you when we're somewhere safe. We've got to get Eames out of here first."

* * *

A short car ride, a jumbled mess of suitcases and a silent ride up to their floor to the tune of elevator jazz, they all arrived in their hotel suite and Arthur, who was supporting Eames, dumped him unceremoniously on the sofa and Yusuf excused himself to take a shower.

"Why do you think he went out drinking in the first place?" Ariadne asked, sitting at the kitchen table as she stared at Eames, lying prone on the sofa. He let out a great snore as if he'd heard her. Arthur tossed his coat aside and, taking the seat beside her, put his hand to his mouth in thought.

"I think that your comment from earlier got to him. Dug under his skin and stayed there, like an itch that wouldn't go away."

"Which one?"

"The one about 'how will we be a team if we have secrets?'"

"Oh god, I must've come off like a real bitch...I didn't mean it how it sounded, I was just angry—"

"No, it doesn't matter how it sounded. You were right. What if Yusuf had some deep, dark secret and we never knew until it attacked us? What if we had another Mal, like you said? We should've learned from Cobb. We can't afford another mistake like that." Brer's face flashed in her head and she rubbed her temples.

Ariadne, the hypocrite.

But she could tell Arthur. She could trust him, right? How could she not trust someone who argued with her over Debussy?

"Arthur, there's something you should know—"

There was a sudden pounding at the door, loud and obnoxious, and she and Arthur shared the same suspicious glance. He got up carefully, fingering the space in the small of his back where she knew he kept his gun.

"Who is it?"

"Brer Reynard, a student of Miles Bertrand's. I'm here to see Ariadne." A muffled male voice spoke through the door. Arthur looked over at Ariadne's wide, stunned gaze.

"There's no one here by that name." He said, cocking his gun.

"Uh, no, I think there is. I've been following you all since Cairo, see, and I know she's here."

"Arthur, I didn't know he was following us, but I do know him from university. Miles taught him, he was in my class."

"Is he dangerous?"

"I—" She paused. "I'm not sure."

"I'm not armed." Came the muffled voice.

"Yeah, I'm really inclined to believe that. Listen, Brent or whatever, why don't you come back in a few days and we'll see you then—"

"Ah, but you'll be in Tokyo by then, won't you, Arthur?" The two shared equally surprised glances. Taking the risk, Arthur opened the door to a dripping wet man with sandy blonde hair.

"How the hell do you know my name and who told you we were going to Tokyo?" Arthur asked, pointing the muzzle directly between Brer's eyes.

"I'm not the only one who's learned a few tricks." The man smiled, his teeth white and wolfish. "Who did you think taught Ariadne all of hers?"

* * *

**I wouldn't let this make you think that I'm totally cultured, because I listen to classical music. I just went from listening to Debussy to listening to Lil Jon and 30H!3**

**EmoGleek- Just read your newest chapter. Great spin on Arthur's childhood! I really liked that.**

**And I know some people are going to catch that Miles' last name is not Cobb. That's because Miles Is Mal's father, not Dom's. Or at least that's what I've come to know.**

**I do so love reviews, each one is like cake to a fat person to me, but don't let that make you feel obligated to leave one, although I've got an epic love for those who have, and so I say thank you to everyone.**


	8. Smoke

_**For Elliesmeow**_

* * *

"Brer…what are you doing here?" Ariadne's voice was shaking, trembling like she had been dunked in ice water.

"Careful, you're dripping on the carpet…" Arthur muttered, pointing with the gun to the soggy spots blooming on the floor.

"Who is this, the maid?" Brer chuckled at Arthur and stepped inside. "What, no hug?" He playfully reached for Ariadne's hand, but she squirmed out of his grasp and stepped out of his reach, Arthur turning protectively in front of her.

"How did you find us?" She asked quietly.

"Some bloke named Earl or Ernie or—"

"Eames." Arthur corrected darkly.

"That's him. He called a few days ago, said you were in a tight spot and that Miles had recommended me."

"Fine, we'll talk about that later, when he's conscious. What did you mean when you said you taught Ariadne her tricks?"

"I don't think that's a word for word quote…" Arthur raised the gun. "Alright, easy there Quick Draw McGraw…It looks like Ariadne wasn't really expecting me, and that she's got a lot to tell you, so if I could, can I just take a shower while you both get whatever _this _isall straightened out?" Arthur looked beside at Ariadne, who nodded. He sighed and lowered the gun.

"Fine. Yusuf should be out by now. Go."

"Thanks…" He left the room, leaving soggy footprints on the carpet and Arthur visibly twitching at his mess.

"Who the hell is he?" Ariadne sighed, sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

"Brer Reynard _is_ his real name, but I think that's the only think he was honest about."

"Do you know him?" She nodded. "Well, I think you better start with that, then."

"He was in Miles' class with me. After I came back from the Saito case, he started asking questions; questions that I didn't want to answer. Normally after school I would visit Miles while he was doing paperwork and hook up to the Ladder, just to practice building and technique, you know? Hone my form, I guess you could say. And one day, Miles left for a minute, and…Brer found me."

"What did he do?" Arthur asked lowly, his fingertips brushing the gun.

"Nothing…he entered my dream. He knew how to navigate through perfectly. He said he could teach me things that Cobb couldn't, that Miles wouldn't. And we started practicing." She looked Arthur straight in the eyes, ashamed, but she would tell him everything herself, not some warped story from Brer. "That's how I learned the dust trick. It's how I learned others, too. Eventually, he started using it against me. Extortion would proably be the best thing to call it. He said that no one could know what we were doing, or they'd find us."

"You were practicing_ illegal _Descents?"

"I didn't know that's what it was!" She replied angrily. "How could I have been expected to? I'd only been on the one case! I didn't know there were rules and codes!"

"Did he?" She nodded. "So he took you on illegal Descents and knew that if you were caught, you'd be blamed?" She nodded again. "So why is he here, if we know he can't be trusted?"

"Because I called him." They looked over at the sofa where Eames was sitting up, rubbing his head.

"Why?" Arthur's voice came out a near hiss. "He took advantage of Ariadne! He didn't tell her—"

"The point is: he goes in, he gets the job done, he leaves, and he does a good one. Are we really sitting here questioning ethics when our mission is to break up a family?" Eames stood, swaying slightly. His eyes were burning through his bleary gaze. "I was just poisoned for nearly two days. If Reynard is quick and he does his job, we won't run that risk."

"He can't be trusted, Eames! What if he was working for…for _them_?"

"Arthur, you're letting your prejudices get the better of you just because he put Ariadne in danger!"

"I'd think that be a pretty justifiable reason, Eames! He didn't just put Ariadne in danger, he put our team's _Architect_ in danger! What if she had been hurt or caught—?"

"He's just a bloody student playing with fire! All boys his age do that in one way or another! And don't say you don't, because look at us. Look at what we do. What would you call this?" Eames leaned closer, his voice low. "Do you smell the smoke, Arthur?"

Arthur stared at Eames with angry, dark eyes for a moment, then turned on his heel, grabbed his jacket and left.

"Ariadne, go after him, please. Make sure they don't get to him too." Eames said quietly. "Yusuf and I will watch over Brer." She nodded.

"You'll be alright?"

"I've been through worse, love." He said, smiling through purple lined eyes and, with one look at him, she turned and followed Arthur down the hall.

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here." She smiled an hour later, peering behind the stack of books, careful to keep her voice low in the silent room.

"You went out by yourself?" He asked, eyes rimmed with fatigue, his hair slightly mussed.

"Nah. I was never too far behind you." She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not right now." She nodded.

"I'll be here until you do, then."

They sat there in silence, her small hand covering his, both feeling as if they would never have a moment just like that again. One of pure companionship, where they each knew exactly how the other felt. That silence seemed to hold their friendship itself in the air, almost tangible, comforting and warm like a blanket on a cold night.

"You know you're the only one here besides the librarians, right?" She said quietly, softly breaking nearly an hour of easy contemplative silence.

"Yeah. I wanted to go to a strip club, but that just wasn't sexy enough. So I came here…you know, for the hot dates." Ariadne turned to watch a woman looking as old as time itself pushing a book cart, and a smile mirrored itself on both their faces.

"You don't seem like the type for a strip club, anyways. I think if you ever went, you'd end up cleaning the place up. Disinfecting everything with some latex gloves and an apron."

"Arthur the Housewife." She laughed at the image, and they lapsed back into peaceful quiet.

"Do you want to go back?" He asked and she looked at him with tired eyes.

"I said I would be here until you were ready." She answered simply. "Are you?" He hesitated, thinking.

"I don't know." He said quietly.

"Then I don't want to go back."

And so they sat until the weak light of dawn trickled into the room, and Arthur announced that he was taking her to breakfast.


	9. Ready

_**For zoesother, because even if she doesn't speak up, I know she's there.**_

"**Here we are all, by day; by night we are hurled****  
****By dreams, each one into a several world" – Robert Herrick**

* * *

They sat in a small, out of the way diner, busy enough to not be noticed, but relaxed enough for their rumpled appearances to not be questioned. Without even asking, Arthur ordered himself a coffee and a black tea, and set it in front of her.

"How did you know that's what I usually get?" She asked with a small smile. He shrugged, wrapping a hand around his mug.

"I suppose I just have good eyes." But something inside those good eyes told her different. "You're my wife, I should know these things, _dear_."

They both laughed and lapsed back into comfortable silence, just as they had during the night, like ocean waves on the shore. It would begin with a ripple of conversation that tumbled into a growing crest, then hit the shore and faded out, soaking into the sand to pool underneath, never actually leaving completely.

In mundane events, the waitress came by, Arthur smiled at her and made small talk, she saw their rings and then sourly refilled their coffees and took their orders.

"I'm ready." He said, right after their food arrived.

She didn't need to ask, and she set down her fork. Her food would just have to go cold. Arthur traced the outside of his mug in thought.

"Sometimes, I wish I had a normal job. A pencil pusher or something. Someone who didn't cause any trouble, didn't draw attention to himself."

"That doesn't sound much like you."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was someone else _but _me."

"Don't we all?" Ariadne said quietly.

"Some days, before I started tolerating the job, I was so angry at Cobb for dragging me into this. I wanted to make him feel as bad as I did, and bless that man for putting up with me, because I must've been a real pain in the ass."

"How did he find you?" Arthur smiled at the memory.

"It was right after I turned 21, so of course I was pretty drunk off my ass with a few friends from college. Cobb found me in the gutter—how ironic, right?—and offered me the job. A few times I wondered what I would've said if I was sober, and I'd get angry at him for taking advantage of me like that. But Cobb is Cobb, and he never apologized for that."

"Want to tell me why you were so mad at Eames earlier?"

"I think you already know why, Ariadne." He looked at her then sighed, looking out the window, sunlight gleaming in strips across his face, shadowed by the blinds. "Eames knows how to get to me. He knows what words to say, and how to make them hurt, and he's not afraid to."

"You said something about how Brer might be working for _them_. Who is that?" Arthur looked at her for a moment then leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"I—I can't say their name, but basically it's a group who try and catch people like us. Extractors."

"Why?" He shrugged, playing with his eggs.

"Moral reasons, mostly. They don't like the idea of us being able to get into their heads."

"What do they do once they find you?"

"I wouldn't know, but Cobb would."

"They caught him?" Arthur nodded solemnly.

"Just once, though, in Aruba, right after Mal and he were married. He slipped up during an extraction, a tiny mistake, and they found him. Once I finally got the courage to ask him, he wouldn't say anything about it other than that they used Extraction on him, found the things that frightened him most and used it on him to get information, but he never caved."

"That's horrible!"

"Is it any worse than what we do?" Arthur said bluntly. "Eames was right. We blind ourselves to our morals, kick them in the corner for later, and for what? Ourselves. Our craving to be in control, to play God. And the money's not too bad either."

"What was the worst case you've been on?"

"Worst, morally? Well there was one where Cobb had a problem with—" Ariadne shook her head and he stopped.

"No, not Cobb. You." He sat back and thought, tapping his coffee cup.

"There was one, right after I joined…we had to convince a mother to give up her child."

"What?" He nodded.

"The father hired us. He was convinced that she was mentally unstable, that the child would be safer with him, and he sent us in to plant the notion that giving up her child would be best." His voice was growing quieter, fainter, as he went on. "We went in, and…it was like there had been an earthquake. All the buildings were beginning to crumble in on themselves, and what projections we did see weren't very, ah, healthy looking. Some tried to attack us before we even did anything." Ariadne shuddered, remembering Cobb and Mal's dream world, how eerily similar it sounded.

"To be brief, we got in, did the job and got out, and soon the boy was in his father's custody. I watched them walk away, the boy crying for his mother, and I told myself it was for the best. That woman would've hurt him eventually, with the state she was in. But sometimes I wonder if we'd been duped. If what we did was the right thing." He looked at her, and she saw the pleading in his eyes, the desperate wish to be told that he had done the right thing. She laid her hand over his.

"It was. If her mind really did—look like that, then you did the right thing, and that boy will have a better life because of it." He looked at her and nodded, as if reassuring himself, before he straightened his shirt and sat up.

"I'm sorry." Ariadne muttered.

"What?" Arthur looked up from his plate.

"I'm sorry." She repeated, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For getting us mixed up with Brer. For not being more careful." His whole body seemed to relax, and a faint smile appeared on his face; it was his turn to take her hands.

"It's more our fault then it is yours. Cobb and I, we agreed that it would best to let you come back if you wanted. To give you the choice we never had. We cut you off completely from the business, and we never even went over the basic rules with you. So I'm accepting responsibility for what Brer did to you, and you shouldn't, for one second, feel ashamed of what you did. He may have tricked you, but at least you learned some from him and taught me, so we've got the upper hand. And, for the time being, Eames has unofficially taken responsibility for Brer's actions while he's here. Whatever he does, both he and Eames will have to answer to, because Eames is the one who called him in the first place. And if he gives you any trouble, you'll tell me, right?" She nodded.

"Good." He reached over and brushed her face. "We don't want him to get to you, my little Architect." All the feminist bones in her body couldn't stop the lurch in her chest. _My _little Architect… "And, incidentally, I have something to apologize for too."

"Really? What's that?"

"It seems I've let your pancakes grow cold."

* * *

Arthur and Ariadne entered, laughing and joking, to a somber, quiet living room. Eames was holding his head, Yusuf was in the corner, fiddling with something and Brer was tracing the neck of his beer bottle in boredom, smoke drifting up from his cigarette.

"Well, well, if it isn't Quick Draw McGraw himself." Brer muttered without looking up. "And the lovely Araidne if I'm not mistaken." He smiled, blowing out a ring of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette.

"If you two are ready, we're going after Amsel." Yusuf said as he began to pack his case with various bottles and tonics.

"Great! When?"

"Today, at noon." Eames answered and Arthur checked his watch.

"You think we can do it in thirty minutes?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"With Brer, we can do it in twenty." Arthur whistled.

"Is he that good?"

"It's what he's saying."

"Well, we'll see about that."

* * *

"Alright, Arthur dear, what's the plan?" Eames asked as they gathered around the table, Arthur setting his suitcase on the spotless counters and dragging out his papers.

"Amsel usually comes to Altenstadt for his weekend getaways." He threw down a picture of a middle aged man with thick grey eyebrows leaving a shiny, expensive looking car. "He checks into his hotel every Saturday morning, takes a thirty minute nap and leaves to visit family at their local property."

"Why doesn't he just stay with them?"

"He's a businessman. Ranches aren't really his style."

"And, let me guess, that thirty minute nap is when we'll hit him?" Eames said dryly.

"Exactly, but that thirty minutes will only give us about two to three hours in dream time, so we've got to work fast. Yusuf, is that special bottle ready?" Yusuf nodded. "Good, have that handy, we're going to need it as soon as Amsel opens the door."

"What are we doing with that?" Ariadne asked.

"Remember me saying that Amsel has a weak heart?" She nodded and Arthur grinned. "Well, we're going to stage ourselves a little heart attack."


	10. Sly Eyes

**There's some German and a pinch of Polish in this chapter, and it didn't seem right to just translate it in the sentence after. But I did translate all the important things. There were a few moments when I freted about sounding too...judgemental. If it comes off that way, I don't mean a word of it.**

**_For Efcia, Jedi Knight Bus, and CaramelFrapuccinoNCIS (I can't type the period. Sorry!). I write for people exactly like you. :]_**

**_Elliesmeow - I hope you're feeling better! Let this be a small consolation._**

**"A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal." - Oscar Wilde**

* * *

The valet stiffened as the Volkswagen Passat rolled up to the Hotel Landgasthof Fischer. _He_ was here again, Franz Amsel, and it would be nonstop complaints and vocal disappointments until he left. Apparently he was friendly with the owner, some big important CEO from Los Angeles, and his stays were free, so he felt it prudent to take as many as he liked.

_Das Polak Teig Bengel_…The Polish Dough Boy. The valet smirked. He certainly looked like he was made of it, and had enough to stuff his pockets, too.

Amsel walked by, as stocky and well dressed as ever, flanked by two bodyguards who stared at the valet with menace before he shut the door.

"_Das Fleisch ist gut mit Teig, nein?_"A voice said from behind him and he smiled at the British man's accent.

"_Tatsächlich_."

"_Ich glaube, er sank dieser_." A roll of bills entered his vision and he grinned, taking it with a nod. The sooner Amsel was gone, the better.

"_Ja, sieht aus wie es_."

"Are we all clear to go?"

"Ja." Eames smiled broadly and clapped the man on the back.

"Good lad." He turned to the side and whistled, and three huddled figures soon rushed themselves into the hotel.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Amsel huffed and wiped at his brow before checking his watch.

_Było wcześnie…_

Putting on a fake, plastic smile, he opened the door.

"You're earlier than usual, my friend. Now, how much do I owe this time—?" He stopped dead at the solemn, serious look on faces too young to have learned them.

"Dzień dobry, pannie Amsel." A man with a British accent and sly eyes smiled and then, Amsel felt a deep, resounding pang in his chest, familiar from twice before, then knew only blackness.

"Is he out?" Arthur asked as Yusuf huddled over the unconscious man.

"Yes, I think he is—"

"_Was mascht du? _What are you doing?" A low voice growled, and the team looked up to the barrel of a gun, pointed by a burly man who was not quite 50, but looking every minute of it.

"One of Amsel's bodyguards." Brer muttered.

"You think?" Arthur hissed, reaching for his gun.

"Hands up!" The group all raised their hands.

"We were passing by and heard a shout…I fear Herr Amsel has suffered a heart attack." Yusuf said frantically to the guard. "_Ein Herzinfarkt_."

The guard started towards his employer. In a split second, Arthur brought his gun from behind his back and hit the butt across the back of the man's head and then the guard too lay prone on the ground.

"That was too easy—" Eames began uncertainly, and they all turned at a sudden choking sound. The second bodyguard had appeared in the threshold, with Ariadne in a chokehold.

"_Legte das Gewehr oder sie stirbt._" The guard said bluntly, raising his gun to Ariadne's head, and then took in the team and their blank expressions.

"_Wir sprechen nicht Deutsch. __Nein Deutsch." _Arthur said calmly, his eyes darting from Ariadne to the bodyguard.

"Put the gun down, or she dies." The guard said in heavily accented English.

"Of course this happens…" Brer muttered.

"Put it down! _Now!_"

"Fine." Arthur said lowly. The guard turned the gun off Ariadne, to them.

"Who are you?"

"Tourists. Herr Amsel has had a heart attack—" Yusuf began again, but was silenced as the gun turned to him.

"Quiet! If you are tourists, what did you do to him?" He indicated the other guard and the group looked at each other, each one struggling to come up with an excuse.

"He had a heart attack too." Brer deadpanned, and the guard looked at him as if to determine whether he was joking or not.

"You will pick up the phone. You will call the police, and get Herr Amsel to a hospital. Then, we will deal with you—"

"No, I don't think that would work at all." Brer said calmly, pulling out his gun in a flash, and shot the guard in the knee. He howled in pain and the gun fell from his hand. Ariadne ducked out of his grip and moved for it, but he pulled a knife from his belt, slashing at her and catching her in the face. Arthur leapt forward at the sight of blood dripping from her face and shoved her behind him. In a dazed pain, the guard lunged forward sloppily with his knife, but Arthur deflected it away and knocked it out of his grasp in a series of deft, quick moves, and twisted the guard's arm behind his back. He howled in pain and kicked out, catching Arthur behind the knees and Arthur fell to the floor.

The guard lunged out with his right hand, but Ariadne stepped over Arthur and blocked it then struck out with her other hand, catching him with a punch to his throat, then a swift kick to his abdomen. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, and she straightened up, breathing heavily.

"Whoa." She turned to the group, her head humming with adrenaline.

"What?" She asked, helping Arthur up off the floor.

"What _the hell_ was that?" Eames asked, as they all stared in surprise at the man writhing on the floor.

"Oh…my college offered martial arts classe… but I only went to one lesson…" Eames whistled and Arthur knelt beside the two guards, quickly injecting one of Yusuf's sedatives into each of them.

"That must've been one hell of a good lesson. Look at him, she kicked his arse!" Eames said giddily, and Arthur stood, ripping a length of fabric from the drapes and handed it to Ariadne.

"Come on, we have to get you and Amsel out of here. Keep that to your face so no one will see and start a panic." Arthur said, taking her under his arm and leading her through the hallway.

"No, because an unconscious billionaire is just common hat around here." Eames said dryly, before delivering a final parting kick to the guard and then they left, Yusuf dragging Amsel out behind them.

* * *

"Are we always going to do this in a warehouse?" Ariadne asked, holding the stained cloth to her face as she followed Arthur into a cluttered side room. She could hear Eames in the other room, muttering about having to carry Amsel in from the car.

"For now, it'll have to do." Arthur said as he swiped an assortment of junk off a tabletop and motioned for her to sit. "Let me see it." She lowered the cloth and didn't miss the gleam of dark anger in his eyes.

"Tell me, doctor, will I live?" A glimpse of a smile passed on Arthur's face before it disappeared under a mask of calm.

"It looks like he got the bridge of your nose and some of your cheek. I don't think it will scar, though. We're going to have to disinfect it though."

"Shit…"

"Ah." He pointed the cotton swab at her. "Language, young lady." He dabbed antiseptic on it and turned to her. "This will only hurt…well, a lot. No use sugar coating it." And with that, he pressed the swab to her cheek.

* * *

A loud yell echoed through the empty warehouse.

"Either they're finally getting kinky or Ariadne's wishing she were dead right about now." Eames said wryly.

"I HEARD THAT!" Ariadne yelled.

"I said it loud, love!" Eames shouted back, before turning to Yusuf. "How's our little _Teig Bengel_?"

"He's holding up." Yusuf said, packing his stethoscope away. "The sedative is secreting hormones that will trick his body into thinking he's having a heart attack, but he shouldn't suffer any actual damage other than slight amnesia."

"Well, that wouldn't be the worst thing…who do you think Amsel was expecting? The valet we bribed said a man always visited him every Saturday morning and left before noon."

"I don't think we'll ever know." Yusuf sighed.

"Maybe Amsel's a poof." Eames offered.

"No." Brer spoke up from where he was leaning in the shadows. "Even if he was, 15 minutes to get the job done?" Eames seemed to consider his words.

"Point taken. So we all agree, he's not a poof. Or at least not an efficient one. Maybe it's a business partner?"

"That's plausible…but what business could he have when he's on vacation?"

"Eames, don't waste your time on something you'll never know." Yusuf said prudently. Eames shrugged, taking a bite of his apple.

"I'm going to go make sure Ariadne hasn't bled to death under Nurse Arthur's care."

* * *

"Do you think they'll miss the drapes?" Ariadne asked as Arthur dug through the various items in Yusuf's bag.

"Hm? Those eyesores? No, I wouldn't think so."

"So do you consider everything an eyesore if it's not brushed metal or modernly decorated or are there other things?"

"No, I'd say that's pretty much it. Although I do like a checkerboard pattern now and then."

"Ah, yes, wouldn't want to get too wild."

"That's enough mouth out of you." He said, finally finding the bottle he was searching for. "Close your eyes." She did, and flinched as the cold gel touched her skin. Arthur rubbed it on gently, careful of the open wound. "Alright soldier, you're all bandaged up. And please, for my sake, I don't ever want to do this again."

"Am I that bad?" She joked.

"No, you're…you're quite nice, but I don't think I can handle your blood on my hands. Literally."

"Arthur, that wasn't your fault—"

"I promised Cobb that I would protect you."

"In fact, I—what?"

"When he left, he knew you'd be back, that somehow I'd—we'd see you again. And he told me to protect you, because god knows we left you high and dry."

"Arthur, you know that's not humanly possible. You can't protect me all the time. Our job runs that risk, and I agreed to take it. I hate to say it, but this probably won't be my only scar when I'm through with Inception."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't protect you all the time, but that won't stop me from trying."

"Arthur, you're not by bodyguard. I have no right to ask you to put yourself in harm's way for me—"

"I don't mind…" He leaned in, feeling the familiar ache of being so close to her, and knowing that somehow, something would interrupt them. Her breath smelled like sweet lime, the gum she always kept in her pocket.

The sound of footsteps, then the door banged open and they jumped apart as if they'd been shocked.

"Oi, ladies, we're ready!" Eames said, grinning as if he knew exactly what he had interrupted.


	11. Kochanie

**This is a longer chapter than most because I will be out for a few days after my surgery today. **

_**"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." - Oscar Wilde**_

* * *

"Are you sure you can do this?" Arthur asked, looking down at Ariadne from where she lay on the plastic lawn chair.

"Arthur, I'll be fine. Eames will be with me."

"I'll be in there in half an hour, but in case anything goes wrong—"

"Arthur, you sound like my mom. We'll be fine." She smiled reassuringly.

"Still, what if he's like Fischer and been trained—?"

"Oh, Arthur, calm down. You're making me worry just looking at you." Eames said as he unpacked the Ladder, linking three of the cables into the box. "Ready, Ariadne?" She nodded, taking one of the cords from him.

"See you on the other side, Eames." He raised the cable in salute and she plugged herself in, Arthur's face slowly fading out of her sight.

* * *

She was in Berlin, although a ghost of reality, her own creation. Cars whirred around her in the nightlife, people bustling around in the streets, laughing and talking. Stores and streetlamps bathed the sidewalk in light, and the people around her blanketed it in life.

She crossed the street, heading to the Wilhelm church that she had spent hours painstakingly recreating. Striding inside, she turned into the chapel, and felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She always got that feeling, like she walked from an uncontrollable world into a realm of silence and peace.

The chapel had been the hardest to recreate, but she was the proudest of it. She had recreated all of the 21,292 stained glass panels, all formed into intricate shapes and each radiating natural blue light, filtering in from the outside sunlight. She took a deep breath and sighed, then slowly walked down the aisle, feeling as if she was too loud, her footsteps too heavy, and the murmur of parishioners drifting upward around her.

She sat in the front row, the glint of the golden crucified Christ shining in the light.

"How do you like purgatory, Mr. Amsel?" The man beside her froze and turned to her.

"Is that where I am?" She nodded and he sat back, unfolding his hands. "I guess I did something right then."

"Are you a God-fearing man?" He chuckled, a deep, winded laugh.

"No, I wouldn't say that I am. I've always found that one can be a decent person with and without the church, and I have experienced both. Everywhere, there are bad people and good people. You do not need the church to have one or the other, although at times it has been a great comfort."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"I've made errors in judgment, I suppose, just like any other man."

"A businessman like you must have something he wishes he could take back."

"A businessman like me…now what does that mean?"

"Well, a man of your status can't go through life and not run into temptation."

"How true those words are…yes, there are a few things I could've lived without doing."

"Such as?" He lapsed into silence. "Mr. Amsel, this may be your only chance to redeem yourself."

"I wish I had never met Thomas Volstov." He said quietly. "That day only led to trouble. Led me to cause my family undeserved grief, because I wished to please him." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I've never met a worse man in my whole life."

"That's a big condemnation." Ariadne said softly, and Amsel chuckled.

"He would be lucky to end up here."

"Ah, Amsel! I knew I'd find you here." They both turned, and Amsel blanched. A man in his late 30s stood behind them, dressed in a crisp suit, his eyes a piercing, calculating blue and his face immaculately cold. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Volstov—Thomas…what are you doing here? Are you—?"

"He's a projection." Amsel turned to her. "A representation of his earthly self, but he is still very much alive, outside of here."

"I understand you have something to tell me?" Volstov smiled again, clasping Amsel on the shoulder. Amsel looked as if he would have another heart attack, but then he glanced up at the crucifixion, and all fear fled his face.

"I wish that I had never met you, Thomas. The years I have spent being your pawn, they were a waste, and for what? Money I could've made as an honest man?"

"Money, yes. But you can't say you didn't love the power. You were not a pawn, Franz. No, a pawn knows it is a pawn and accepts it. You, my friend, were a rook. You were my masterstroke, and I placed all my reliance on you."

"No, no, I've heard this before, when you speak to the ones you're about to fire. To the people whose lives you destroy. I was no rook. You used me, and the only reason I was never a pawn was because I died too early for you to use me up, to suck the marrow from my bones and toss me out." Amsel began to color as he grew more vocal. "And I know what you've done, Volstov."

"What I've done? And what would that be?"

"You lie. You cheat and gamble like a degenerate. You've never been able to stay away from a game of risk, have you? Always looking for a chance to prove you can walk on water itself. And your wife, your poor wife, how I feel for her. Natalia did nothing but love you, and look what you've done to her. I don't think I've ever seen a new secretary come out of your office without her hair rumpled or her dress wrinkled. And you care nothing for your children. You never see them, you never show them any affection, and yet you expect the best of them." Amsel shook his head. "I never could believe there was such a person in this world as evil as you except possibly the devil himself. You are a wolf, Thomas, and one day you will be lured to your death by something you could never resist."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"Power. You'll be in talks for some grand business deal that you pine for because it may make you even higher on the Forbes list. You crave the attention of your peers, the confirmation that you're the best, that you've won over all the others. I never could understand that. A man must love what he has, not what he could."

"Yes, because that mantra served you so well. Tell me Amsel, how is the family?"

"At least I was trying to repair the damage I caused! And I had many happy memories of my time with them. Tell me, what do you have?" Volstov didn't answer, his eyes concentrating on Amsel like a hawk. "I thought that might be your answer. Now, if you will excuse me, I still have unfinished business here." Volstov smirked coldly, then turned on his heel and walked away. Amsel turned to Ariadne, the color fading from his face.

"It was lovely talking to you, _moja droga_, but I'm afraid I still have many things to apologize for." Ariadne nodded and rose.

"I hope you're able to leave this place."

"Ah, well, what was it Hans Selye said?" He paused, thinking, before snapping his fingers. "'As much as we thirst for approval we dread condemnation'. Well, I thirsted like a man in the desert, and as such, I suppose now I have been made a god-fearing man."

* * *

"Eames, that was wonderful." Ariadne said, stepping out into the street. Volstov smiled at her as he smoked a cigarette. He tapped it out on the wall and turned to her, and was Eames once again, dressed in a slightly too-large business suit.

"Why thank you, love. You were quiet brilliant, yourself...ah, look, it's Nurse Arthur, come to save the day." He nodded across the street, to where Arthur himself was waiting at the crosswalk. "Go meet him, will you? I'm going to use the loo."

Ariadne nodded and strode forward, stopping at the blinking stop sign. She concentrated on the concrete barricade, and as it shot up towards the night sky she pulled it back towards her and it stopped at her feet, creating a crude tunnel in the middle of the street.

"That was a little overboard, don't you think?" Arthur said with a smile as he walked to her.

"It's my dream, I'll do whatever I damn well please."

"I take it that everything went well with Amsel?"

"Well, Eames and I aren't distraught messes on the sidewalk, so I'd have to go with yes." As they walked, some of her projections cast a backward glance at them.

"Oh, before we go..." He set down his briefcase and walked to the tunnel, giving it a swift kick and it shot back, reverting back into the barricade it was before.

"Even the tiniest thing out of order just drives you crazy, doesn't it?" She smiled, then sighed as her projections started to bump into Arthur.

"Your subconscious doesn't seem to like me much." He said as they waited in the median to cross the next street. A projection walked by and pushed Arthur.

"No, they don't, do they?" She said with a smile.

"This could get annoying…"Arthur muttered, rubbing his arm as they crossed the street. Suddenly, an idea crawled into her head.

"Wait!" She grabbed his sleeve, making him stop in the middle of the road. Cars honked before swerving around them. "I know how to make them stop!"

"Really?" She nodded. "Do tell." She stepped in closer to him, straightening his collar. She leaned in and caught a drift of his cologne and looked up at him.

"Quick…gimme a kiss."

And so, as cars veered around them, headlights illuminating their figures against the night, he did.


	12. Viking Heart, or, PANDORA

**100+ reviews! How wonderful you all are! Thanks to everyone for the get well wishes, I'm fine, and I get to eat ice cream all the time :D**

**For Red Bess Rackham, who was spectacularly kind.**

"_**We fit like a pair of beat up shoes, with nothing left to prove. We can be ourselves…no one loves you like I do and, until death do us part, you can have my Viking Heart…" – Miniature Tigers**_

* * *

Eames strode into the room, staring at his phone, and headed to where Arthur and Ariadne were sitting at the table, reviewing a set of blueprints and talking casually.

"Well, it looks like our dear Herr Amsel was found unconscious in his hotel room last night and was immediately flown to Charite Hospital in Berlin where he is recuperating quite nicely…almost as if he never even had a heart attack." Eames chuckled.

"Our next stop is Leipzig, correct?" Yusuf asked from his spot in the easy chair, looking up from a newspaper.

"As correct as ever, Yusuf." Eames sat in the opposite chair, fiddling with his phone.

Then a smile broke out on Eames face, one that Arthur had come to associate with fear and loathing.

"What did you do, Eames?" The Brit looked up.

"Oh, to worry your meticulously pretty little head with, darling."

"Eames—" He sighed at Arthur's tone.

"I just book you two a room at the Hotel Höhepunkt as Mr. and Mrs. Füchse. Your aliases, remember?" Arthur and Ariadne nodded. "Anyways, you're in Leipzig on your honeymoon, right? So, after the rest of us arrive, it looks like you two will have to share a bed." He grinned wickedly at their stunned expressions. "Oh, hold on." He held up his phone and snapped a picture. "Aw, this should be your engagement photo…well, needless to say you both look radiant."

"Jackass!" Arthur lunged at him, trying to reach for the phone.

"Careful, now, I'm still paying insurance on this thing!"

"I don't mind, you know." Ariadne said, touching up her sketches of her hotel, night blanketing their suite in quiet darkness, the kitchen lamp above them casting a warm, intimate glow over the room. Rain pelted against the windows softly, reflecting the streets below like glimmers of diamonds.

"What's that?" Arthur asked, watching her draw with idle fascination.

"The sharing a bed. Just don't snore, please or I may just happen to roll over and smother you with the pillow." They both smiled and Arthur laced his hand with hers under the table.

"I solemnly swear that I will not snore. That's more Eames' department anyways." He toyed with a strand of her hair and moved his hand to trace the healing scar forming on her cheek before leaning in and grazing it with his lips. Ariadne laughed.

"Stop, that tickles!" She said, playfully shoving him away. Arthur grinned, watching her as she went back to her drawings.

Eames strode in, heading for his room before he caught their clasped hands and sighed.

"Well it's about bloody time! To be honest, I thought it'd take more time…be more drawn out." He turned to the hall. "Yusuf! I owe you six quid!"

"I'll hold you to that!" Yusuf shouted back.

"We're just keeping up appearances, Eames. We're a loving couple on our _honeymoon_, aren't we?" Arthur asked mockingly. Eames stared at him a moment, then shrugged, taking a bite of apple.

"Whatever you do in that room until I get there is up to you lot, but don't make a mess, because I have to pay for it."

"We'll try to contain ourselves." Arthur said dryly. Eames sighed again, looking from one to the other.

"Young love…bless you both, I could never handle that. Makes me itch." He shrugged, as if trying to rid himself of it, before walking from the room, passing a sleeping Brer, laying prone on his handmade floor-bed.

"Ariadne?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?" Arthur said, staring vacantly at Brer.

"As long as it's not illegal, yeah, fire away."

"What happened with you and Brer?" She froze, her pencil in midair, and sighed.

"Nothing. And I mean it."

"Did you…did you want anything to?"

"I don't know…" She answered, and he didn't doubt the honest quiver in her voice. "He can be charming when he wants to, but sometimes, when we practiced, I saw a side of him that, I don't know, almost _scared_ me."

"How?"

"Well, he'd get in these moods that were like he couldn't control himself. Like his emotions just burst out or something—and it wasn't anger normally, it was excitement or sometimes even fear. It was like Inception is his religion and he holds it with this huge reverence and if you doubt it, or him, he would get upset."

"So, he's extremely dedicated, then?"

"Yeah, I suppose that'd be the term."

"Is he dangerous?"

"No…just…unstable." They both looked at Brer, who snorted then turned over. The rain continued to beat against the windows, like fingers tapping at the panes.

"Well, as much as I hate to break this up, it's time to move, darlings." Eames said, shaking Arthur awake none too gently, and Arthur leaned over groggily, his arms falling from where they'd been entwined around Ariadne. They had fallen quietly asleep on the sofa, sharing a single threadbare blanket, as the rain lulled them both to sleep.

* * *

"Oh, what a shame. I really wanted another picture for the album. Easy, tiger—" Eames said, opening the blinds and dodging Arthur's lazy swipe. "Wouldn't want the missus to get upset!" He left the room snickering.

"Ariadne, it's time to get up." He shook her gently and she groaned, burying deeper into the sofa. "Come on, we'll be late for the train—" He moved to get up, but felt a tug on his hand, anchored to the sofa by Ariadne's. A soft smile appeared on his face and he sat next to her.

"Ariadne…" She wrapped the blanket around her in a tight cocoon and he smiled. "I'm really glad Cobb's a bastard meddler." He said quietly, before laying next to her, his arms automatically curling around her once more.

Eames whistled an upbeat tune as he walked in, adjusting his cufflinks. The plan was going so well, despite his little trip up, he couldn't really see how it'd go wrong, with their evidence from Amsel—

He stopped. Backed up into the living room.

"Oh, for Christ's sake. Can anyone get up by their bloody selves? I should get paid for this, I'm like the maid—"

And with that, he strode over and, against his better judgment, kicked Arthur awake, much to his later chagrin.

* * *

"I'll kill him." Arthur muttered as he stared out into the Germanic countryside, rubbing the small of his back. "I will toss him off Big Ben into the Thames if I have to, but somehow—"

"That's a long toss." Ariadne said, looking through a magazine. "Hope you have the arm strength."

"Pft. Scrawny git like him? He'll go sailing like a paper airplane." Arthur mimicked Eames' accent and Ariadne laughed. He leaned against the window with a groan. "I think he knocked out a vertebrae…"

Ariadne said nothing, mainly because she had long ago found that words kind of lost their touch on Arthur, so there wasn't much a point trying to say something sweet. It wasn't his style, it wasn't hers either. She set down her magazine and wordlessly sat next to him, rubbing her hands together until they were warm before placing them on the small of his back, making small soft circles. Arthur sat silently through it all, and she watched his stiff posture slip into a slouch.

When she felt the time was up, she sat back, grabbed her magazine and opened it again, sifting through it wordlessly once more. Suddenly she felt Arthur's head on her shoulder and turned. He looked up at her with The Eyes, the ones that could break her down, rebuild her again, make her stronger than before. She could never understand how he could do that with a simple stare, although The Eyes were soft now, smooth and gentle and, in a rare moment of transparence, she could see him as he really was. As new to this as she was.

She smiled, brushed back a stray strand of his hair and kissed him, the same innocent, almost childish peck they had first shared.

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" They broke apart and looked at the door, where a thin woman stood, the word vixen scrawled over every inch of her body, in her posture, her wavy blond hair, her smart eyes.

"No, not really."

"I'm sorry, I thought the carriage was empty—" She stopped. "Have I met you before?"

"No, I wouldn't say you have."Arthur said bluntly. She stared at them another moment.

"We're almost to Leipzig, everyone—"Eames appeared in the door, and stood shock still as he saw the woman.

"Hello." She smiled through red cherry lips.

"Hello. Why the hell are you here?"

"Eames!"

"Oh, he's just mad because we've met before, aren't you darling?" Ariadne and Arthur had mirrored stunned faces, looking from Eames to the woman.

"What? Eames—"

"Yes, we've met, but that was because I was drunk off my arse and you looked remotely attractive. Must've been the booze."

"Easy there on the language, darling, there are children here." She winked at Ariadne. Arthur stepped in front of her, careful to keep his hand hidden behind his back.

"Who are you?"

"Pandora, but you can call me sweetheart. And what can I call you love, other than handsome?" She slyly winked and smiled at him.

"Tristan, Tristan Füchse."

"Ah, and this must be your wife Layla." Pandora sauntered over and touched Ariadne's face. "Such a lovely face. You know, I saw someone in Cairo that looked just like her. Went by the name of Ariadne." The group stiffened, but Ariadne kept her composure.

"Must've been a coincidence." She said, smiling innocently.

"Must have been." Pandora smiled again. "I'm sure I'll see you all around. Eames, wonderful to see you again." He made a grimace and opened the carriage door. She left with another wink at Arthur.

* * *

As soon as she left the room, Eames face collapsed in a rare show of alarm.

"She poisoned me."

"What?" He turned to Arthur, panic in his eyes.

"Are you _deaf_? That night, at the bar, she put whatever it was in my drink that had me vomiting all over the place like a bloody fucking infant!" He paused, running a hand through his hair. "We've got to get rid of her. She knows who we are."

"How?" Ariadne asked, bewildered.

"You haven't told her yet?" Eames hit Arthur on the arm.

"I didn't think now was the best of times!"

"What don't I know?" Ariadne asked, looking from one to the other.

"You don't know about Sirin, and you'd better sit down, because it's about time you do."


	13. Silver Rabbits

**This chapter will be the shortest of the story, but it's the most important.**

**_"Just like their meanings they lay between the lines_**  
**_Between the borders their real countries hide_**  
**_The strategigo's saw their advertise_**  
**_Their strategy of being is one of in-your-face disguise"_**  
**_- Gogol Bordello, "Through the Roof N Underground"_**

* * *

The train rocked from side to side and Eames stood, sliding the curtains shut, looking around with a jittery anticipation that made Ariadne uncomfortable just watching.

"We don't normally speak about…about Sirin, but seeing as Arthur so conveniently forgot to tell you, I suppose we have no choice." Eames said, with a slightly sour look at Arthur. Ariadne sat, staring at the small table, fumbling around to find where she had heard Sirin before, but it was a distant echo, like she had heard it in another life.

"That name sounds so familiar thought, like I've heard it before…"

"It should be. It was the name you told Arthur you were being held hostage at. It's why he rushed over to get you." She looked over at Arthur, who sat there in silence, leaving Eames' claim unacknowledged.

"But I never knew that was a real company—"

"Of course you didn't. They didn't want you to."

"They?" Eames paused, looking at her a moment.

"Tell me, Ariadne, what is a Sirin?"

"It's the Russian version of a Siren." She said, information she didn't know she had learned springing from her mouth. "Beautiful women that have the bodies of birds that were created to sing for the gods."

"And what did they do to mortals?"

"Well, anyone who heard them sing was lured to their death." Eames nodded.

"It's the same with Sirin, Incorporated. They find Extractors, Forgers, Architects, whoever works in the business, and lure them in as if they were on a real job. They use them to get information, then, when they're done, they usually kill them. Although I think they've changed that policy recently. I hear they've been recruiting a large amount of Forgers, but we don't know for what yet."

"Why?"

"They think we're immoral, which I suppose is the only thing they've gotten right. They don't like how we, literally and metaphorically, infiltrate people's lives and they believe we should be stopped, to protect the world at large."

"But we're not a danger or anything?"

"Really, love? Are you saying that the people we Marked are better off than if we'd never interfered?"

"Well, for the most part, yes! I mean, Fischer was kind of a mixed bag, but Arthur told me he saved a boy from his mother once—" Eames made a face, almost like a grimace.

"And this boy, was he better off?"

"What?"

"You're saying that, by tearing apart his family, his life took a turn for the better?"

"Well, yes, his mother was unstable, it was the right choice to take him—"

"And his mother? Do you know what happened to her?" Ariadne looked to Arthur, who was still sitting silently.

"No, Arthur never said—"

"It's because he doesn't know." Eames stopped, a bitterly quiet laugh escaping him. "See how impersonal our jobs are? We don't care about anything except the money. Always the money. Never ask about anything else, just get in and do the job, never care about the people we hurt—"

"Eames, are you alright? You're acting a little odd—"

"What do you think of, in the time between sleep and dreams?" The question caught her off-guard.

"What?

"The time we have, when we're halfway between being asleep and dreaming?"

"I don't know, I never remember anymore—"

"And do you know why?" She shook her head.

"Because Extracting has its physical cons, too. All that power, the mentality, that it takes to carry out a job, it whiplashes when your mind is idle, when it's outside of the dream's landscape. It causes a black hole, a cancer, that slowly spreads, until you end up in a bed in some corner of the world, rotting away from the inside like a piece of bad fruit." Eames' eyes had grown dark, almost feral, and Ariadne sank back.

"I want to save you from that fate, Ariadne. You're too good for it."

"Eames, I—"

"Do you know what I think of, when I lie awake at night?" She shook her head, lost for anything to say.

"I wonder if the words in my head are my own, or if they're someone greater's." He paused for a moment, thinking, his eyes shining with a curious dark gleam.

"Do you ever feel like you're being guided by a hand?" He asked, holding up his own. "It leads you on with patience at first, but then it becomes a little more eager, the grip becomes tighter, yet you're not afraid. You accept it, because it's comforting and safe. You will never get hurt while the hand is guiding you." Ariadne felt a chill rush down her spine at the creeping fervor in Eames' voice.

"Eames, you're starting to scare me. You're starting to sound like…" Her eyes widened.

"Like whom, love?"

"Like Brer." Eames paused then a smile slowly grew on his face.

"Ariadne? Would I be an inquiring bastard if I asked how you got back from Berlin?"

"Berlin?" She asked, confused."I've never been to Berlin in my life, only in my dr—" She stopped, the words dying in her throat. Hastily, she fumbled for her bishop and tossed it onto the table.

It swayed on the spot to the point of falling, then swung back and came to rest on the tabletop.

Horrified, she looked up at Arthur, whose face had begun to shift. His hair grew out, losing its brown luster and turning to blonde and his body started to morph into a woman's. In moments, Pandora stood before her, a wicked smile on her face.

"Hello again, darling."

"What's happening?" Ariadne asked, springing to her feet.

Pandora motioned to the door, which slid shut, the deadbolt locking in place with a damning resolution. Ariadne fell back against her seat, unable to comprehend what was happening. In an instant, Eames was no longer beside her, Brer was.

"You're in my dream, sweetheart." Pandora said, her eyes pierced with a bloated gloating, like she had just won some coveted prize.

She stood and drew back the curtains, revealing a crumbling city running along the tracks, disappearing into dust as the train passed. Gray concrete buildings and plain, dreary land collapsed upon themselves as the train rushed by, folding up and disappearing, falling away as if they'd been swallowed by the earth.

"Welcome to hell, love."


	14. The Revolutionary Étude

**"_The dialogue between client and architect is about as intimate as any conversation you can have, because when you're talking about building a house, you're talking about dreams."_**

_**- Robert A.M. Stern**_

**For Melissa (), because she loves my sense of humor. I like it too. It keeps me reminded that, without it, I'd forget everything humourous, and then I couldn't possibly lift anything because my arms would be uselessly unattatched. Baddum-chhh. Wordplay.**

**theSunlitEarth - can you spot the Chopin reference? It's there, just for you.**

* * *

"Goddamnit!" Arthur yelled, hitting the table.

"Arthur, calm down. Breaking things won't help her." Eames said coolly from his seat in front of a dated computer monitor, his eyes lined with many days worth of fatigue.

"Mind telling me what will, then?"

"Well your attitude certainly won't—"

"Yeah, and neither will your smart remarks."

"At least I have enough sense to keep my girlfriend in my line of sight—"

"Stop it, both of you!" Yusuf cut in. Arthur looked as if he was seriously contemplating shooting Eames straight between the eyes. "Arguing will not bring Ariadne back. We must think this through; we must come up with a plan of some sort…"

"She's in a Sirin's dream." Arthur said quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Almost inescapable, through our means at least. We don't know who the Host is, and without that, we're just wasting time."

"Eames, you spoke earlier of that woman…Pandora. Who is she?"

"I'm not sure. It was definitely her in the bar I went to in Cairo, and I'm sure it was her that poisoned me…"

"Do you know with what?" He shook his head.

"No, I don't remember anything after seeing her."

"This doesn't make any sense…"

"Well, yes, Arthur, we all know that—"

"No, I mean for Sirin. They don't normally operate like this."

"Like what? In secrets and underhanded tricks? Because that actually sounds a_ lot_ like how they normally operate, Arthur—"

"No, this is different."

"How so?" Eames asked irately. "Care to let us in that vague head of yours, Mr. Holmes?"

"They always take one person for bait, to lure the rest in—"

"Oh, you're bloody brilliant, you are—"

"But then why would they take Ariadne…and leave us with nothing?"

"Uh, maybe because they're the bad guys and that's what they do!"

"Eames, he may have a point." Yusuf said quietly, his fingers clasped in thought.

"What?" Eames rounded on him, incredulous. "Oh, come on, I expect this crock of bullshit to come from him, but not from you, Yusuf! You're the voice of reason! Are you really saying that we're going to try to find Ariadne based on the standard villain's guide to fucking up their own plans?"

"Do you have anything better?" Yusuf asked calmly, taking off his glasses.

"No, I don't mainly because we're running around in circles, trying to get our heads out of our arses to question why the bad guys haven't left a single bloody clue—"

The phone rang, its shrill call yanking them back from the end of their chains like a master to rabid dog.

"Hello?" Arthur answered, pressing the speaker button.

"I took her, as she was sleeping next to you…" Brer's voice sounded through the now silent room as if he was speaking through a bullhorn. "Did you feel her just _slip_ through your fingers? Almost as if she were never there at all…"

"Where is she?" Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady, but hearing the quiver underneath, as if someone had struck steel with a hammer.

"What kind of person would I be if I told you? That's counterproductive."

"To what?"

"The mission." Brer answered simply. "We're getting rid of you, one by one, you know."

"Why did you call?"

"What, can't I help out?"

"I wouldn't call this helping."

"What if I told you we're on our way to Leipzig? Would you call that helping?" Arthur straightened.

"I'd call that a trap." Eames muttered.

"I'd call it a lead." Brer said smugly. "And it's the only one you'll be getting. Catch us if you can."

He hung up with a resounding click.

* * *

"Sit, please. Wouldn't want you to think of us as uncivilized." Pandora said, indicating one of the seats as Brer left the room, pulling a phone from his pocket.

Ariadne sat down, more of shock than courtesy, and Pandora sat opposite, surveying her with an air of insatiable curiosity.

"I'll bet you're wondering why you're here and how." Ariadne nodded. Pandora eyed Brer through the glass door before standing and pouring herself a glass of chilled rosy wine.

"I don't have much time, so I'll make this brief. You're here to fulfill something you had no choice in participating in. What you're here for, this is something that Dominick Cobb started, and that you must finish. We took you in Altenstadt, after you pried that information out of Amsel. That was quite clever, by the way, making him believe he was in purgatory."

"Oh…thank you…" Of all things, she had not been expecting a compliment from her kidnapper.

"And that little move, turned you from a pawn," Pandora fingered Ariadne's bishop, pushing it until it swung back to the tabletop. "Into something more…valuable. Do you know why?" Ariadne shook her head. "Because it showed that you believe in second chances. And that is why you've been given one."

"A…second chance?" Pandora nodded.

"You're one of the lucky ones."

"Do my friends—do they know—?"

"That you're gone? They may be men, darling, but they're not blind. They've known for nearly a day that you're missing, and they're looking for you, we know that much." Pandora looked at Ariadne a moment. "You know, usually, a team like that would just go out and hire another Architect. You must've really gotten under their skin. Especially that young one, Artie."

"Arthur."

"Yes, him. Did you know that I've met them all before? Even Yusuf." She took in Ariadne's surprised face. "Judging by that little expression, I wouldn't think so. I'm surprised; I thought Eames would have at least mentioned me." Ariadne shook her head and Pandora shrugged. "Well, it's understandable. The terms we met under weren't very pleasant."

"What are you going to do to them?" Ariande asked, anticipating for her greatest fear.

"Are you not even concerned with your safety?"

"Not as much as theirs, no." Pandora stared at her a moment then threw back her head and laughed.

"I knew we'd found a good one! See, this, this is exactly why we want to save you. Your selflessness. That is what will redeem you in the end."

"But you never answered—"

"I'm getting to that, darling, be patient, please." She took a sip of wine. "Now, what is the most predictable situation you could be in?"

"Damsel in distress." Ariadne answered immediately.

"Very good, and your friends know that too, from all our years of familiarity. We have something they want, they come to get it and we trap them and give a long spiel about our evil plans. It's just too…blasé. These old methods won't do for what we have in store." Pandora paused. "But that's another story, for another time, preferably when your friends are about to rescue you and we're dangling them over a pot of lava or shark tank or some other ridiculous situation."

"But…if my team knows you took me to get to them, why do you think they'll come after me?" Pandora stared at Ariadne a moment, contemplative, before setting down her glass.

"Tell me darling, why do you think Inception has become so easy? Back in Cobb's day, it was nearly impossible, except on incredibly small scales or weak minds, but now, it's as if someone turned a key in the door."

"I don't understand—"

"You are the key, or, more accurately, you're a battering ram, sent to us to break the door off its hinges. You are one of a kind, a Master Architect. Why do you think Cobb nearly tripped over himself to keep you in the dark? You, darling, are special. You have been given a great gift. Those tricks Brer taught you, those are nothing when compared to your real potential. That is what we're after, and so is your team."

"A Master Architect?"

"There haven't been many. A few you've probably heard of, but only a handful had your talent." Pandora looked at her with bright, reverent eyes. "You offer a great possibility. A brighter future. Cobb is just a lampshade, a tinted window. He's filtering out the light, keeping you in the dark, where you're none the wiser. Sirin wants to save you from that._ I_ want to save you."

"How can you save me?" Pandora surveyed Ariadne a moment, her eyes narrowing.

"You should be careful with where your prejudices lie. They can lead you to the wrong assumptions." Before Ariadne could ponder her words, Pandora stood.

"21-292. That's the train car we're on. Can you remember that number?" Ariadne nodded. "Good girl. You might want to hold onto that for a little longer, too, for after we get off." Brer entered the room and pulled Pandora aside.

"He wants to see her." She nodded then leaned in close to Ariadne. Her voice was soft, almost gentle.

"I'll be back to see you, love, don't worry." As she backed away, Ariadne saw something akin to sympathy in her eyes, like hard candy that spent the day baking in the heat, but hadn't melted completely. Araidne stood to follow, but Brer blocked her from the door.

"You're staying here. The Composer wants to see you."


	15. Mädchen

_**"Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven."**_  
_**- Tryon Edwards**_

* * *

She had been disconnected from the Ladder an hour ago, locked into a wheel chair and led, semi-conscious, onto another train, her scarf pulled around her face as a blindfold as she was pushed through a busy station.

Ariadne sat alone in the train car, rocking back and forth as the train carried her onward into the unknown, the bleak ground rushing by in a blurry streak, to be swallowed by the night, as if the darkness itself was an insatiable monster. The lights flickered above her as rain pattered against the windows.

Suddenly, Brer stiffened and sat straight, staring at the frosted door with a mixture of raw fear and compelled respect a soldier might have towards his general. A figure appeared through the doorway, dark and blurred from the distorted glass.

The door slid open, scraping against the floor.

A man stood before her, his face dark with irreversible, weary bitterness, a long scar running across his face. His dark hair was slicked back in two wavy crests and his eyes were the color of storm clouds, almost reflective, like drops of mercury. With his narrow face and strange eyes, Ariadne was instantly reminded of a fox at night, its eyes caught in the headlights of a car.

Brer shut the door behind him, leaving the two alone, with Ariadne eyeing the door, calculating her chance of escape. She shifted on her seat as he sat opposite her, and suddenly a cane was in her face, the steel tip sharpened like a knife.

"I may be blind, but don't let that fool you into thinking I'm inept, my dear." The man said with a smirk, a cigarette smoking from between his fingers. "And although these eyes have grown useless, I see what cannot be seen. I know all, and everything is illuminated. There is not a dark corner or crook that can escape the light, once it has been shown."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I think you know who I am."

"The Composer." He nodded.

"You may call me Grieg if you wish…So, you obviously know who I am, then?"

"Yes."

"And do you know what I do?"

"You kill people like me."

"Bah," He spat, an exasperated look on his face. "Why does everyone say that? Have my representatives not made it clear? We do not want to _kill _you. We want to _save _you."

"What if I don't need saving?"

"Ah, but one with your job always needs saving. An eternal damsel in distress, and who rescues her?" He sat back, a sly smile on his face. "We do."

"And who are you to tell me that what I'm doing is wrong? What gives you the right?" Ariadne said with a frown, her voice taking a sharp edge. Grieg paused, his blank eyes considering her for a moment.

"I can hear your face through your voice, you know. Your tone tells me more than you might think and one as young as you shouldn't have that look too often, mädchen. It gives you lines, see; makes you look older than you are." Grieg said as he took a drag of cigarette. "You've been led astray, my dear. Fallen victim to…what's the name…the Stockholm Syndrome. With big men around you that tell you you're doing the right thing, who keep you in the dark and lie to you. We, in comparison, have been nothing but honest with you. Men like Dom Cobb, they are evil. They're ruthless in getting what they want, and they don't care who they hurt or what's in their way. They play for the game, which makes their prize sweeter, so to speak."

"But Dom's not like that—"

"Oh really? Mind telling me what happened to his wife, then? Hm? The poor woman, killed by her own husband's ambition." He shook his head. "Cobb said it himself, that he tested unsafe practices on her, and she didn't know, did he not? And when he wanted to get to his children, would you say that he was determined… obsessed, even? He hurt anyone who got in the way of his goal and claims he only had his children's best wishes in mind, yet he killed their own mother for his own selfish wants. Now, tell me, what kind of a man does that make him?"

"How do you know so much about Cobb? How did you know what he did to Mal?"

"I already told you, mädchen. I know everything." He leaned closer and his eyes drew her in like steel to a magnet, and she found that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move, like he had paralyzed her from muscle to bone.

"I know you lie awake at night and wonder if you will ever become anything in this world than a replaceable sidekick. I know how you sit in class and tell yourself that the fact that you're a woman does not make you any less smart or respectable than your male counterparts, although you look upon them with envy. You wonder what you could've possibly done to not receive the accolades and praise that they have, when you've worked twice as hard. And I know that deep, deep down, you wish you were someone else. Someone prettier, someone braver, and someone who deserves the man you call Arthur." He sat back, a sly smile on his face, and stared at her shocked expression. "How was my guesswork? Was it good? I think I hit the nail on the head, don't you?"

"I don't—I don't know what y—"

"Let me help you, darling. Here, we care nothing for beauty or power or any other anchor that weighs the soul down to the bottom of the ocean where it is no longer able to breathe, so covered in grime and trash as it is. No, here, we see you as _you_. Someone exceedingly smart, clever, with a soul like a beacon in the night. Someone like you." He sighed, twirling his cane. "But, unfortunately, to build you, first we must break you, as unpleasant as that may sound."

"Break me?"

"Those at Sirin do what I say. I ask that there is no question, no doubt, and no fear to comply. But I always do right for my workers, I never abuse my power in any way, and, as they can all attest, I have never asked them to do something the majority was uncomfortable with. I feed them out of my own pocket, I clothe them, and I make sure they're comfortable. But that's not the real goal. I give them a place to belong, where there is no fear of judgment or harassment because of one's person, physically and mentally. Everyone is friends, here. We are family." He leaned back, his eyes glinting in the light, almost like he was looking straight through her.

"So, mädchen…are you in?"

* * *

The Leipzig Hauptbahnhof Station was busier than normal.

People swirled and moved among each other like fish in a tank, rushing off to do personal business in the shops or happily greeting friends and family. Arthur sat on a bench in the middle of the concourse and watched them, searching with austerely trained eyes.

"See her yet?" Eames asked, leaning against the wall casually, reading a magazine, and to any passerby he looked quite like he and Arthur were total strangers.

"No. The message said noon, didn't it?"

"It did."

"What if they planted it as a decoy?"

"The source is solid."

"Right, because Brer was so trustworthy." Eames ignored the jibe and looked up at the clock.

"Look alive, love. Dresden is due any minute." Arthur straightened. "The next train out is a loop to Berlin."

"Is Yusuf in position?" Eames nodded then frowned, looking at his magazine.

"Oh dear…"

"What? What is it?"

"It seems that a Cancer won't put out easily to a Taurus. Looks like we're just going to have to push through that and I'm sure that, given some candles and wine, you'd loosen up..."

"Eames, how can you joke at a time like—" Arthur stopped dead, staring into the glass stairwell in the center of the mall, and stood.

Ariadne was being shuffled along through the stairs, Pandora in front of her, leading her on, and Brer behind her, close enough to hold something to her back. Arthur instinctively reached for his gun, wanting nothing more at the moment than to shoot Brer in every painful place on his body, but then reminded himself of the pedestrians around him, and the panic that would cause. He wasn't even close enough for a clear shot.

He was already heading for her before she exited the stairwell. He ducked behind the doorway, waiting for her to appear, and as soon as she did, he strode up behind Brer and pushed his gun into his side, disguising it by leaning on Brer like they were old friends.

"Nice meeting you here." Ariadne stopped in front of him and turned. He never thought he had seen a more relieved face and he couldn't stop his chest from tightening at seeing her alright, like someone had put it in a clamp in his chest and twisted. But Sirin, of course, had other ways of hurting her than just physically.

"Are you alright?" She nodded.

"Where are the others?" Pandora asked.

"It's just me. I came alone."

"Admirable, considering you're outnumbered." Arthur smirked.

"I didn't say I was outnumbered." There was the sound of a gun cocking and Pandora stiffened, Eames appearing behind her. "Because this looks like we're even."

"Arthur, love, tell me next time we start the plan, will you?" Eames looked at Ariadne. "How are you, darling? Evil yet?"

"She's pledged herself." Brer said quietly.

"Yes, listen, I'd love to believe that, but seeing as you're the bad guy, I'm going to have to tell you to stuff it, you sorry prick."

"You don't seem to understand. We gave her a choice: join us, and spare your lives, or don't and you all die. First Yusuf, then you, then Arthur, and she will have to watch."

"Tough luck sweetheart, Yusuf isn't even here." Brer smirked.

"Too bad we know that's a lie. We have him under surveillance, you two as well, and if you even try to make a move, we have men that will take you out."

"Right, I'm going to have to call your bluff."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Look around you. How do you know what you're seeing is just people, average citizens leading average lives? Are you sure they're not something…more? A Sirin, perhaps?"

"Brer, enough talk." A voice said behind them and Arthur and Eames froze as Grieg appeared out of the stairwell.

"Sorry, sir, but these two are under the impression that they can take the Architect." Grieg smirked.

"Is that so?" He reached into his pocket and Arthur was already moving before he pulled out his gun, tackling Ariadne to the ground as it went off. There was a split second when no one realized what had happened.

Then, a scream, and chaos snapped through its chains and unleashed throughout the mall, chasing and nipping at the heels of the fleeing people. Arthur brought Ariadne close to him and stood, shielding her from Grieg. Eames had already pulled his gun and shot, clipping Brer on the shoulder.

"What are you waiting for? Get her out of here!" Eames yelled, and Arthur took off towards the next concourse, Ariadne under his arm as Eames followed, Brer beginning to fire wildly at them. Eames grabbed a colorful floor display of jewelry and hair pieces and threw it down as a makeshift roadblock, sending it to floor with a crash.

Arthur ducked into the concourse entrance, pushing past confused passengers who were ignorant of the action outside. He snatched a well-worn brown coat from a pile of waiting luggage and draped it over Ariadne, who huddled in closer to him.

"It's my fault." He said to her quietly as he shuffled her along.

"Not it's not…we trusted the wrong people." She replied, keeping her head down.

"I'm going to have to tell you how wrong you are later, when we're not in mortal danger."

"When will that be? Because I don't have eight years." He smiled despite their situation.

"This is our train. Come on." He helped her on board before sliding the door shut, a whistle piercing the air.

As soon as they stumbled inside an empty compartment, Arthur locked the door as Ariadne drew the window blinds with a sigh.

"If I never go on another train again, I will die a happy woman—" She turned to Arthur and found his mouth pressed against hers, his hands holding her face like he was afraid he was dreaming, a fear she had become too familiar with in the past week.

"I'm sorry." He said, kissing her again before breaking away. "I should've never have listened to Eames, I knew Brer wasn't good, I _knew_, and I still let him stay—" Ariadne shushed him quietly and wound her arms around him slowly.

"It's fine Arthur. They didn't do anything to me."

"Are you sure? What about Grieg?"

"He tried to recruit me. He said I was a Master Architect or something like that—" Arthur pulled away and looked at her.

"He said that?"

"Yeah, why? I thought it was just rhetoric or something."

"No—Cobb said—I never believed him—"Arthur collapsed on the seat, a stunned look on his face.

"Is this a bad thing?"

"No!" He looked at her, an awed grin on his face. "No, definitely not. It's a…it's a _powerful_ thing."

"Grieg said Cobb was keeping me in the dark."

"I wouldn't doubt that."

"I didn't either. Are you?" He stared at her a moment.

"We agreed there were many things you wouldn't be able to handle…things you wouldn't understand."

"Will you let me at least try to? I think I have enough brainpower to comprehend the situation."

"Yes, I will. I think it's about time anyways. You _are _smarter than the average bear." Ariadne smiled, leaning against him as his fingers wove themselves through hers.

"What's the first order of business?" She asked, just as Arthur's phone rang. He looked at the text and smiled.

"I think it's time for you to meet our Sirin spy."

* * *

Eames had bided his time, waiting for her to appear on the platform. He knew she'd follow, orders or no, and sure enough, not a minute later, she appeared, hand in her purse on what he knew was her gun. Sneaking up behind her from a food stand, he grabbed her arm, leading her to the train. As they walked, he locked a pair of handcuffs around their wrists.

"Mind telling me was this is all about?" She asked with a polite smile.

"Oh, nothing, just a chat between acquaintances."

"Acquaintances? I would've thought I'd be a friend by now."

"Friends don't stab each other in the back on a regular basis. They also don't try to shoot each other."

"Friends also don't sleep together."

"Will you just shut up and be a good hostage?" She smirked and he turned, stepping onto the train.

He cocked his gun and aimed it at Pandora's temple, looking at Grieg straight in the eye, although Eames personally found it a bit unnecessary.

"Stop now or I'll shoot her."

"You wouldn't." The train began to move and Grieg started to walk beside it, his cane echoing on the concrete.

"Oh, I would. Lord knows I've wanted to before, and the only difference is that now I actually have a gun. So, tell me Grieg, I'm curious…what will you do without your coordinator? I reckon you'll be like a child at the playground who's lost its mother. I can picture you now, bawling your eyes out as snot runs down your jumper…"

"What do you want in exchange?"

"Let my team get to Berlin, unhindered. Then you can have your bloody coordinator back, alive, if she can keep her smart mouth shut." A sour look appeared on Grieg's face.

"It is a deal." He said, beginning to trot next to the train as it rolled away.

"Ah, then good day to you all. It was a pleasure doing business!" Eames smiled broadly, before dragging Pandora onto the train, slamming the door as it left the station.

As soon as the door was shut, he turned to her.

"You know, I find it a right good stroke of luck that none of your lot realized I was out of bullets. Turns out you aren't the only side who can bluff, eh?"


	16. Weights and Measure

"_**Now I hold the key, to find out what is killing me. It's been so long, but somehow I just still care…I am a Romeo and sometimes you make me just want to explode."**_

"_**Romeo" - Sublime**_

* * *

"A spy?" Ariadne asked, mouth agape. Arthur nodded, crossing his arms.

"A pretty good one, too."

"A _spy_?"

"Yeah…how many times are you going to say that?"

"One more time…_a spy_? And no one told me this?"

"Well, to be fair, Yusuf doesn't know either. We picked her up before you two came."

"Her? It's a woman?"

"It's certainly not a man, if that's what you're asking. I thought you, as our resident feminist, would be pleased."

"Well, I am, but…wow, this is a lot to take in…"

"Do you see now why Eames and I were hesitant to tell you everything? You might've gone mad, and then what would I possibly do with myself?" She looked up and smiled.

"Well, you could just go mad too. We could be mad together."

"But I don't want to go among mad people."

"We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad…" She stepped closer to him and he raised his eyebrows.

"How do you know I'm mad?"

"You must be, or you wouldn't have come here." A smile broke out on Arthur's face.

"Word by word quoting. Impressive. I do believe I've found a Lewis Carroll fanatic."

"Useless knowledge springs eternal from me. And you knew the words too, so you're just as a fanatic as I am. Did you know that the metal band around a pencil's eraser is called a ferrule?" She smiled and he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I think it's the most important part of the pencil because without it, how would you ever correct yourself?"

"How indeed…I guess you learn something new every day…" He said quietly, leaning down, his forehead brushing hers.

"Sorry to interrupt—" Eames said, appearing at the door, the look on his face suggesting he wasn't in the least bit sorry. Arthur sighed.

"What is it Eames?"

"Just thought you'd like to see the bird I caught." He grinned, holding up his arm, showing them the handcuffs and Araidne's chest lurched as Pandora was yanked into view. "Have to keep an eye on her in case she flies the coop." Eames said, coming into the compartment, Pandora having no choice but to follow.

"Is she clean?" Arthur asked, eyeing Pandora suspiciously.

"Why don't you check, sweetheart?" Pandora asked with a wink.

"Enough out of you." Eames said, shaking the handcuffs before turning to Arthur. "Of course I did, who do you think I am, an idiot?"

"You've been one lately, yes."

"Yusuf is fine by the way. Her camp was bluffing after all. Talk about a shot in the dark."

"Grieg knows she's a Master." Arthur said to Eames with a nod at Ariadne.

"Really?" He looked at Pandora. "Is that accusation true?"

"Yes."

"Well," Eames sighed. "We're fucked."

"Not exactly." Pandora spoke up, a smile growing on her face.

"What have you got?" Arthur asked, leaning against the window.

"Wait, why would she tell us?" Ariadne asked, bewildered, looking from Arthur to Eames.

"You haven't told her?" Eames asked.

"I was waiting for you." Arthur said calmly. "Sorry for being courteous."

"Oh, right, for the dramatic entrance. Want me to try again?" Arthur shrugged.

"It's alright; you can do it some other time."

"Hey, guys, I still would like an answer over here." Ariadne spoke up.

"Right, sorry, love. Well, may as well cut the chase. For about, oh, five or so years, Pandora, here, has been our little spy into Sirin Incorporated."

"Little?" Pandora cut in with a raised eyebrow.

"WHAT?" Ariadne turned to Arthur.

"I told you."He said with a shrug.

"Wait…but you're the bad guy—"

"Does that mean I can't act? Who do you think told these two where you were?" Pandora said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They have to get their information from somewhere, don't they?"

"So when you said you wanted to save me—"

"I don't bluff all the time, darling. Do you remember the code I told you?"

"Yeah, 21-292."

"Good. You're going to need that."

"Why?"

"You'll know when the time comes. It has everything to do with Sirin Inc. and nothing to do with telephones." Pandora looked up at Eames. "So tell me, what's Yusuf doing?"

"I thought you 'had him under surveillance'."

"Oh come on darling, I thought you were smarter than you looked. Or at least more than you dress."

"You—" Eames started forward, but Arthur held him back.

"Don't let her get to you, Eames, she's just doing it because she knows it annoys you." Arthur said calmly and sighed as Eames sat down. "Christ, I feel like I'm handling five year olds…"

"Yes, Eames, join the grown-ups, will you?" Pandora smiled.

"Pandora, knock it off. We've only got about two hours to get everything sorted out—"

"Wait, where _is_ Yusuf?" Ariadne cut in.

"He's already in Berlin, setting up for us. We thought it'd be best to be prepared—" He was cut off as Ariadne's stomach growled loudly.

"Did your lot even feed her?" Eames asked, turning to Pandora.

"Grieg didn't, no. And it's not like she said anything." Eames sighed.

"You bloody tosser…Arthur, please take Ariadne to the dining car. _Darling Dora_ and I will sort this out." Arthur nodded and opened the door, letting Ariadne out before him.

* * *

"So what's the deal between Eames and Pandora?" Ariadne asked over ice cream sundaes in the dining car. Their glasses clinked together over the table as the train rocked along the tracks.

"Well it obviously started as a one night stand gone horribly, horribly wrong."

"Yeah, but I was under the impression that was all."

"Oh no, they repeat that mistake about once a year."

"Really? Like an anniversary?"

"Sure, although it's _usually_ random and they're _usually_ drunk off their asses. And afterwards they _always _say they never expected it." Arthur sighed, stirring his melting ice cream. "Cobb could always handle them better than I can."

"That's not true. He was sterner, sure, but you're handling them fine. And they're adults, it's not like they don't know how to act in public."

"Sometimes I wonder…" Arthur muttered, toying with the bright red cherry as he rolled it around the bowl. He startled suddenly as his ringtone went off. Ariadne grinned.

"Still sticking with Debussy, huh?" He smiled back.

"Always." He lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He stiffened and stood. "Yeah, I'll be right there." He hung up without another word.

"Who was it? Eames?"

"Yes, and he wants to see me…just me." Arthur added, almost guiltily.

"Still keeping plans from me?" She asked with a sardonic smile. Arthur leaned forward, close to her.

"I said I would tell you everything. I have no intention of going back on my word. Besides, Eames doesn't know we're telling you everything now."

"Just…don't take too long, please? We'll be in Berlin soon, and I think Grieg will try something again…" Ariade muttered, playing with something that resembled more soup than ice cream, unable to look at him. Something inside him softened like melting ice cream and he slid into the booth, next to her.

"Hey, listen. We're more prepared than you give us credit for. Whatever Grieg did to you, I will personally make him pay ten times over."

"Thanks, Romeo, but…I don't want you to." She stopped and took in his confused expression.

"Odd. Normally women have no power against my gallant chivalry… something must be wrong." He examined his hands and looked at her. "Do you have any krypton on you, perchance?"

"I don't, sir." She smiled. "And before your pride gives in and you ask, I meant that I want to do it myself. Grieg did nothing to you personally, so it's only polite that you return the favor."

"Will I ever know what he did?"

"Doubtful." They stared at each other a moment as he tried to coax the information out of her, but the lid was soldered on. She smiled. "Now go, you have a meeting with the Brits."

"Wish me luck with the toddlers."

"Luck with the toddlers." He smiled at her one last time then turned to leave, taking a backwards glance at her. She stared forlornly out of the windows and he thought, for a rare time, he was getting through to the real Ariadne. Past the brick façade and clever haze, right to the thick fog, and to the problems that lay inside like shadows.

All she needed was a little light.

* * *

Ariadne was asleep when he returned, propped against the window and curled into a ball. A steward had already come by and removed their bowls, and even placed a cup of tea in front of her, although it was now untouched and cold.

"Ariadne?" He shook her softly and she groaned, shifting in the seat. "Hey, Ariadne. Wake up."

"What?" She looked up at him with bleary eyes, then out into the thick darkness. "Arthur? What time is it?"

"Almost ten. Did you dream?" He was almost eager for her to say yes.

"No, not this time...Eames only wanted to see you for thirty minutes?" He paused, taking his jacket off.

"Yes...I told you I wouldn't be long."

"Great, what did he say?" He hesitated.

"Are you sure you want to know everything? That word is heavier than it looks."

"Arthur, you said you'd tell me—"

"Alright…" He sighed. "Here's the plan." He leaned forward. "I, personally, would love anything else except this, but Pandora says this is the greatest chance we have of succeeding, and as much as I hate to say it, she's usually right."

"Well?"

"You know that when the train stops in Berlin, we agreed to give Pandora back, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well…you have to go with her."

* * *

**School has started for me, and as a result, updates will be delayed, so please be patient with me. Thank you to all my great reviewers!**


	17. Fake Empire

"**Turn the light out, say goodnight  
No thinking for a little while  
Lets not try to figure out everything at once  
It's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky  
We're half-awake in a fake empire"**

"**Fake Empire" – The National**

__

**I really think this song must be played on loop to fully get the mood of this chapter.**

* * *

"Alright. What do I have to do?" Ariadne said, unfazed as she looked up at Arthur. He was taken aback a moment and smiled. That was exactly why he loved her. Her confidence; her borderline fearlessness. She hadn't even taken a beat of silence before her response, no hesitation at all.

"Pretend you're her prisoner. I don't think the acting itself will be that hard, god knows Pandora is good enough at it. She'll flaunt you, make herself look good."

"Does she know when Sirin will attack us?"

"She has an inkling of an idea, and we're certain it will be an ambush. Like I said before, Yusuf is already preparing."

"They already know where we're staying, and our aliases."

"Yes, Pandora mentioned...don't worry, those were fakes. As Pandora is fond of saying, 'Anything for the sake of the dramatic'."

"Arthur, I…when Sirin had me and I was dreaming or whatever, I—I thought I was with you, and I…I told them things." He stared at her curiously, lips parted.

"Like what?"

"I—well—I kissed whoever was pretending to be you, for one." Arthur stared at her a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. "What? What's so funny?"

"Sometimes it feels like I've known you for years, and then you go and remind me it's only been months."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not at all. It's a great thing. But honestly, Ariadne, you shouldn't worry about things like that. Things that, in a few months time, won't matter. You should worry over things that will change years' worth of opinions, not days'."

"So you're not mad?"

"Mad? At you, no. But I'm pretty pissed with the man who tried to be me."

"He pulled you off pretty well."

"Did he now? Well, I guess that means I'm pretty predictable, doesn't it?"

"Or he was just good at his job."

"I think that's why they've been recruiting so many Forgers recently."

"Who? Sirin?"

"Yeah. It all makes sense. To make their recruitments twice as effective, who else would be better than your boyfriend?"

"So you're saying you're my boyfriend now?"

"Or at least pretty damn close, yeah. Oh, wait, I forgot." He brought his hand up and wiggled his fingers. "I'm your_ husband _now, aren't I?" They both laughed. "That's Eames, doing anything to embarrass me."

"Should we even keep this up, that we're married, if Sirin already seems to know?"

"Why not, for appearance's sake?"

"Are you sure?" He leaned back and looked at her.

"Why? Are you asking me for a divorce?" She laughed.

"No, I'm just wondering what good it will do."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" They both smiled, then slowly, the smile slid from Ariadne's face and she turned to look out the window.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, his mouth turned down in a slight frown, trying to see her face. She turned back to him, a slightly dazed expression on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but…" She faltered, searching for the right words. "It's just that—I'm afraid that there will come a day when I can't tell between what I think is real…and what is actually real."

"Because of Sirin?" She nodded and he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Dammit, I told Pandora to go easy on you…"

"What?"

"It was after they took you, about an hour after we found out you were gone. Pandora called, and said Sirin had you. She didn't know we were together and she knew the marriage was a ruse, but I told her anyways to be easy on you, to not go overboard with her theatrics and keep the others, like Brer, in line. I didn't want them to go too far with you, and that's why Pandora was there, to watch over you. You were just a rookie, you know? You didn't know that much about Sirin; what they did or how they did it. She must've gotten carried away… Do you want to talk to her?"

"No, I—It was just a lot to take in at once."

"Just say the words, and it won't happen again."

"Arthur, you can't promise that."

"I'll promise whatever I want and there's not a damn thing Sirin can do about it." He sniffed and they fell into silence, the train rocking them gently from side to side.

"Did she really poison Eames?" Ariadne asked quietly and Arthur considered the question.

"Well, considering their love-hate relationship, that doesn't seem all too unrealistic that she did… But, in my opinion, no, I don't think so."

"Then why would Eames say that?"

"Because he's Eames, and he's a drama queen?"

"Even so, that's a serious accusation…how could we trust her?"

"We've worked with her, Ariadne, for longer than we've even known you. It's hard for you to understand, but she's proven herself. We're certain of her. It may have taken you a shorter time to earn our trust, but Pandora sacrificed important things for it."

"That doesn't mean she can't change."

"Well, if Eames isn't lying, and Pandora really did it, we need to find out, and quickly. But that could also have been one of Sirin's endless tricks. Remember, it's easy for them to convince you that you're in reality, when really you're dreaming. And you were in their world when 'Eames' told you that, so it may have been them acting the part. Pandora could've told them she poisoned Eames, when she didn't."

"Alright…then who poisoned Eames?" Arthur was silent for a moment, then looked at her.

"Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?"

* * *

The sun was setting down over Berlin, cold autumn wind sweeping through streets as loud and busy as any other city in the world, the day beginning to wind down. The group stood silently in front of a hotel, Eames grinning proudly.

"Eames, you didn't." Ariadne said softly. Arthur was at a loss for words, twitching as if he might have a coronary.

"I can't believe you did this…" Pandora muttered as they all stared at the hotel.

"I thought you, Dora, of all people, would enjoy this." Eames said to her.

"Oh, this is an absolute masterstroke, don't misunderstand me, but there is something called_ too much of a good thing_…"

"Ah, that's just conjecture."

"I thought you made the name up."Arthur said, breaking his silence. "I didn't think this was real…"

"It is indeed. The Hotel Höhepunkt, center of love for romantic couples everywhere."

"I thought only Japan had these types of hotels." Arthur murmured.

"Oh, no, apparently, they're very popular."

"Eames, let me get this straight." Ariadne said, rubbing her temples. "You booked us into a hotel where people go to…do it."

"Yes, that's the general idea. Hotels for people whose homes aren't quite good or private enough." Ariadne groaned and her head fell in her hands. "Looks like no one will be sleeping tonight." He said cheerily.

"Out of terror and horror, most likely." Arthur muttered, sending a dark look at Eames, who was already heading off to check in, and he turned to Pandora. "Dora, kindly give him hell tonight."

"Oh, no problem, love. Shall I lock him in the bathroom again?" Arthur smiled wryly.

"No, no, that won't be necessary this time. I actually have another plan in mind…"

* * *

"Are you sure we can't just check into a motel?" Ariadne asked, lugging her stuff down the hall.

"We could, but then we'd miss Pandora's revenge."

"Is it really that good?"

"Oh, it's like artwork." Arthur said, stopping in front of their room. "Well, let's see what horrors await us, then, shall we?" He slid the key in and the door clicked open. Ariadne dropped her stuff in shock.

"Whoa."

"I know."

"It's…it's actually…nice."

The room was painted a deep blue, the same hue as the night outside, and a soft breeze rustled the curtains, as if the night itself was shimmering before them. There were no regular lights, only mounted blacklights, which highlighted how clean the room was and bathed everything in a tinted blue glow.

Stars and solar systems were painstakingly painted on the walls, and Ariadne was reminded of a children's planetarium she had once owned as a kid. She would drape sheets over her bed like a fort place the planetarium in the center, turn it on, and watch the stars rotate around her bed as she imagined they did past her roof, in the sky over her head.

The bed dominated most of the room, as she rightfully assumed it would in a place like this. It looked soft and comfortable, but unfortunately, there was only one.

"Well, call your side now." She said, staring at the downy sheets.

"What?" Arthur called from the bathroom and he appeared at her side, shoes clicking on the floor. "Hey, did you know there's a hot tub instead of a bath in there?" He said with a grin and she made a face.

"Really? How would you—"

"—ever get clean?" He finished in unison and they both laughed before he turned and hauled his briefcase onto a tabletop. "But honestly, I really don't think people come here for the showers."

"I used to have a room that looked like this." Ariadne said quietly, sitting on the bed.

"Really? Arthur asked, his back to her as he unpacked. He looked up and around before turning back to his things. "I did too."

"No way."

"Well, it wasn't painted so much as a—"

"Planetarium?" She guessed with a smile. He stopped with what he was doing, a neatly folded shirt in his hands, and turned to her, a quizzical look on his face.

"No way." He said, repeating her. "Were we the same child?"

"Doubtful." She scoffed. "I don't like cleaning."

"I like _organization_. I don't like cleaning much either, but someone has to do it."

"Alright, easy there, Housewife Arthur." She said, holding out his shirt.

"And I don't own an apron, thank you." He huffed as he snatched the shirt back.

"What do you think Pandora will do?"

"What? To Eames? Oh, it's something fantastic every time." He said, sitting next to her on the bed. "I doubt she'll disappoint."

"I don't understand her." Ariadne said, lying down to stare at the star encrusted ceiling. She smiled as she saw Arthur's shirt glowing underneath the light. He sighed and flopped down next to her.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but she and Eames are more alike than different. Both are…very hard to get along with."

"For you, maybe."

"And for Cobb, too. How soon we forget him…did you know that it's only been two months since Fischer?"

"Really?" She asked and Arthur nodded, silence falling between them as they stared at the ceiling. "Do you think he's happy?" Arthur didn't respond, although she knew he had heard her.

"Getting his kids back was all he ever wanted…I think he's content." He said finally.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Arthur sighed.

"Cobb always had to have something to fight for. Always, it was either Mal or his children. Now, though…I don't know. I think he may come back some day, to find a new challenge. He's left before, you know."

"Really?" He nodded.

"Right after he escaped from Sirin and before Phillipa was born. He didn't come back until her first birthday."

"What did you do?"

"What could I do? I lay low, took a few college courses in a futile attempt to act my age. I met Pandora for the first time, and unfortunately Eames as well. But if Cobb ever had to teach us anything, it would be that he was right when he said that once you enter the dream world, you'll never really leave. So I think he'll be back, one day."

"Do you miss him?" She asked quietly.

"Every day."

"You know, Arthur…you may never actually be him, but that doesn't mean you're not just as good as, because you are. And, in some ways, you're better." He turned his head and looked at her before he laced his fingers through hers.

"How the hell was I lucky enough to have ever found you?"

"Well, you didn't." She smiled. "Cobb did."

"Something I suppose makes me indebted to him."

"Arthur?" He looked at her solemnly. "How do I know I'm not dreaming?"

"Do you have your bishop?" She nodded. "Well, that might do it."

"Could Sirin trick me, though? I mean…make it fall or something?"

"I've never felt up a girl." He said, deadpanning. "No one knows that but us two, right?" She smiled.

"Right."

"So you're not dreaming. And asking anyone impersonating me would certainly throw them for a moment. Enough to be able to tell if they were me."

"Because you wouldn't hesitate?"

"Because I can be as unabashed as I want when I tell you about my romantic conquests. Or lack thereof."

"Sometimes I think you're lying. I mean…have you seen you?"

"Ariadne, when I look in the mirror, I see an awkward human whose ears stick too far out. No one, with the exception of a narcissist, ever see anything they love, and even then, the narcissist is only fooling himself." He sighed. "I never had time for girls, anyways. Just at prom time. That reminded me of how acutely alone I was, but other than that, I couldn't be bothered with girls, especially in high school. After Cobb found me and I had an excess of time, where I couldn't study, to think on my life, that was when I began to notice how utterly unsociable I was. It was a wonder you could even put up with me when we met."

"You weren't so bad."

"Perhaps. Maybe I unloaded all my unfriendliness on Eames."

"Even so, he just gives it right back." Ariadne pointed out and Arthur chuckled. "I suppose, to other people, he's not the friendliest."

"Easy for you to say, he treats you like a little sister. You've never been the focus of his wrath." She laughed.

"Is it that bad?"

"It's horrible. I cannot wait for Pandora to pull off whatever's she's been planning."

"I think, in another life, you and Eames would've been best friends."

"You're speaking slander, Ariadne. I really think you should stop…" He said, turning on his side, his eyes taking on the Look, the daring, provocative glint that seemed to challenge her to best him.

"Make me."

And with a smug grin, he took her into his arms, close enough so she could feel his heart beating against her hand. The cool wind sent the curtains billowing, the night invading the softly glowing room and the stars matching up to the walls like pieces of a puzzle as he kept her quiet.


	18. Berlin Rising

"**Wait for the year to drown.  
Spring forward, fall back down.  
I'm trying not to wonder where you are.  
All this time lingers, undefined.  
Someone choose who's left and who's leaving."**

"**Left and Leaving"—The Weakerthans**

__

**For Ria-Dancer Girl, who is absolutely wonderful.**

* * *

Soft moonlight wove through the drapes, spilling into the room and pooling on the floor and in the nooks and crannies of the soft downy sheets. It cast a calm shadow over the two huddled figures; ones arm was draped over the others body in a protective, gentle hold.

Ariadne awoke with a jolt, gasping for air, a thin sheen of sweat breaking over her forehead. The silence was deafening, threatening to crush her, smother her quietly in the night without even a word uttered. Her clothes stuck to her in a cold sweat, her heart pounding against her chest as fog swirled around her head, like she couldn't think straight. Carefully, she slipped out of Arthur's sleeping grasp, laying his arm gently over a pillow.

Taking a moment, she looked at his face, more naturally calm in sleep than he had ever tried to be when he was awake.

Quietly, she pulled on the worn brown jacket he had stolen for her in Leipzig, slipped on her shoes, and left the room, the roaring silence only nicked on the surface by the click of the lock in the door as it shut.

* * *

He found her in an empty park, staring at the Wilhelm Church, traffic buzzing around her weakly at the lateness of the hour. The soft green grass blew gently in the cool wind, the bright white streetlights casting her small figure in shadows. He sat next to her without a word, joining her in her silent vigil.

"I wanted to see it in person…" She said softly. "I didn't think we'd have much time in the day."

"You're just lucky my instinct told me this was where you'd go… In all of Berlin, at 3 in the morning, of course you would come here. You wouldn't be you if you didn't." He sighed, skimming the glassy waters of conversation lightly as they looked up at the stone towers, glowing gold in the night. "It's just like you imagined it, but of course I didn't expect anything else from a Master Architect."

"What is that?"

"It's…well," He paused, shoving his hands in his pockets as he thought. "Close your eyes." She did and he moved closer to her. "Now, imagine you're in a big, green field. The grass is endless, no matter which direction you walk, and it's the most peaceful place you've ever been or will ever be to. Until you come to a fence. It's the ugliest thing imaginable, out of placem, rusting, just hideous really, and you can't scale it, or jump over.

And then on the other side, you see through the fence that the grass is a more vibrant green. You can smell cleaner air. The wind is perfect and the sun is warm. But you're stuck, and left to stare at what you can't have. Now, normally, you resign yourself to the fact that you'll never get any farther and just wander around the pen, and you begin to notice it's not as perfect as you thought it was. You'll always want to get to the other side, but you can't get past the fence. A Master Architect…" He paused and looked at her. "They can break through the fence and get to the other side."

Silence fell between them as she stared at him, quietly struggling to understand his words.

"So you're saying I'm special?"

"You've always been special." He said unabashedly. "I'm saying you're _powerful_. That's why Grieg wants you so badly, and that's why Cobb recruited you."

"But…but how do they know? I've never done anything remarkable—"

"You created over four flawless layers of imagined dreamscape. You wouldn't call that remarkable?"

"Well, no, not really, especially once Mal showed up, and I…what?"

Arthur looked at her. And he laughed.

"You're really something, you know that?" She grimaced.

"Are you making fun of me?" She asked, and his face fell solemnly.

"No…no, if I was, you'd know. None of my scathing comments are clever and subtle like our resident Brit's. I'm just outright unpleasant when I don't like someone."

"Then please tell me how can I be 'really something'?"

"Think about it, Ariande. You just said that four layers of dreamscape was nothing. I'd say that seems like you have more potential."

"Well, I suppose, yeah, I do—"

"And it also sounds like you think you can do better."

"I know I can."

"What a..._perfectionist_ thing to say."

"What a _sexist_ thing to say. You think I can't?" She challenged and his smile faded.

"Easy, Ariadne. That wasn't a bad thing."

"Sorry." She looked away, but he never stopped looking at her, thinking, the cogs in his mind turning, clicking together like a well oiled clock.

"Now I understand…" He said quietly.

"What?"

"_You_. I understand you."

"Really?" She asked sardonically. "And what would that entail?"

"Well, that vicious defense just now told me one thing. You don't like it when men are treated better."

"Well, yeah, any self-respecting woman would say that—"

"And that makes you want to prove yourself. Makes you work harder and try to be better than anyone to prove that you're worth more than any other man who tries." She felt her face redden at each accurate statement. He paused and looked straight at her. "Ariadne, you never had to try. You already are."

A calm silence fell between them, the breeze shuffling her hair across her face. She smiled.

"Thank you."

"I do have one request, though."

"Yes?"

"Please don't make that whole 'leaving unannouneced to wander the streets' a habit of yours. At least...write a note or something. I'd rather prefer not wake up in a panic like that, to an empty room, completely void of an Ariadne that was supposed to be sleeping soundly beside me."

"I won't." She smiled, and slid her hand in his. He yawned.

"Wonderful…now can we please go back? I don't normally wake up looking this good, and I need my beauty sleep."

"How did I ever land such a narcissistic, beautiful pig?" She laughed as they walked back through the park.

"Oh, luck...it was written in the stars long ago by a higher power... And it sure doesn't hurt to have a perfect face and unsightly toned abs like mine."

* * *

They were awoken by an incessantly loud banging on the wall.

"What is it?" Arthur grumbled loudly.

"Open the bloody door and come in here and get me!" Eames said, muffled by the wall. Arthur and Ariadne looked at each other.

"Do you think she did it?" Ariadne asked.

"Oh, I do." Arthur grinned and turned back. "Are you dressed properly, Eames?"

There was a pause.

"That depends on your definition." He finally shouted back.

"He's safe enough for Ari, if that's what you mean." Came a voice from the doorway. Pandora stood there, a smug smile on her face as she put away her key.

"Ari? When I did get this nickname?" Ariade asked as she swung her feet over the bed.

"Just now, actually. Thrilled to see you clothed, sweetheart."

"You and me both." Ariadne said, but couldn't stop the blush on her face.

"Yes, well, the same can't really be said much for Eames, I'm afraid…" Pandora trailed off, an evil glint in her eyes.

"What did you do?" Arthur asked.

"Well, you'll just have to come over and see, won't you?"

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it?" Ariadne asked.

Pandora thought for a moment.

"About a 7.5. But you really should see for yourself." Ariadne and Arthur looked at each other, then followed her out to the next room.

"Ladies, hold onto your skirts. Arthur, dear, that was mainly for your benefit…" Pandora said, winking, before opening the door.

"It's about bloody time, I—" Eames stopped dead as he saw them.

"Whoa. This is…" Arthur muttered.

"Evil." Ariadne finished and Pandora smiled.

"Evil, after all, is what I do best."


	19. Spirits

**"They pass like spirits of the past -they speak  
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -  
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;  
They make us what we were not -what they will,  
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,"**

**The Dream – Lord Byron**

* * *

Eames sat—or lay, rather—before them, totally and completely skint except for a small stuffed animal placed thoughtfully between his legs. Arthur presumed the only reason Eames had willingly volunteered was because he hadn't volunteered at all; he was chained to each bedpost by pink furry handcuffs.

"What'd they book you on?" Arthur asked, gleeful at the chance of Eames' humiliation.

"Shut up and find the keys already." Eames snapped.

"Should we let him out?" Ariadne asked.

"And let him unleash his fury on me?" Pandora scoffed. "At least give me a head start."

"Eames, are you going to play nice?"

"I swear, as soon as I get out—"

"Alright, another hour it is then—" Arthur said, moving to leave.

"No, wait!" Eames paused, swallowing. "I won't retaliate."

"Is that a promise?"

"I won't touch a hair on _darling Dora's_ perfect little head."

"Did a lot more than touching hairs last night, by the look of it…" Arthur muttered and Ariadne suppressed a smile.

"Nothing happened." Eames said, exasperated.

"Really?" Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Mind telling me how you got like this, then?"

"Last night, after you two went to bed, we went out for drinks. I suppose at some point she drugged me—"

"Bingo." Pandora winked.

"Anyways," Eames continued after sending her a glare. "I woke up like this."

"Did you?" Arthur asked, looking to her.

"Yes, but it was harmless."

"Dora, that doesn't look good on you, especially after the whole poisoning—"

"Poisoning?" Pandora asked, bemused. "I never poisoned him."

Ariadne sighed with relief.

"Eames said you poisoned him—"

"You'll have to refresh my memory, Arthur, because I don't recall saying that."

"But now this is just proof that Sirin lied to Ariadne the first time they took her." Arthur made a point not to notice he had admitted Sirin would take Ariadne more than once.

"They told you I poisoned Eames?"

"Dream-Eames did, yeah." Ariadne said.

"Well the thought has crossed my mind," She turned and looked at Eames. "But I like this better."

Eames sighed in frustration. "Can someone please just taking these fucking handcuffs off and let me get dressed?"

* * *

After breakfast, Pandora and Ariadne went up to her room while Eames and Arthur went out to find one of Yusuf's contacts, a sort of modern day alchemist. Soon, papers and notes were strewn about the small table in the kitchen as the two women sat around it.

"What's going to happen once Sirin finds us?" Ariadne asked.

"As soon as we make the trade off, they'll put us both under—in the dream world of course— so we don't fight when they take us." Pandora said, marking a note on one of the papers.

"Why would they put you under too?"

Pandora shrugged. "Precautions, probably. Wouldn't want to take chances on what might be a sleeper agent."

"This has happened before?"

"Twice." Pandora said, wiggling two fingers. "Once, when I joined and then a second time, right after Cobb and Mal—well, you know. We had to get him out before they realized he was an open target."

"Cobb never really struck me as an open target."

"Open targets are easy when they're vulnerable. Hurt, heartbroken…he would've been handed to them on a silver platter. But, that's another matter." Pandora opened a notebook, passing pages of complex drawings and details. "Now we have to figure out a way to get you into Sirin and out without complications."

"What's this?"

"Did Arthur and Eames not tell you?" She asked and Ariadne shook her head. "Men, always so forgetful…Before I worked for Sirin, I used to be an Architect too."

"Really?"

Pandora nodded as she lit a cigarette. "And if you'll allow me to say so, I was pretty good. But Grieg had other plans for me." She sounded bitter.

"What plans?" Ariadne asked tentatively and Pandora sighed.

"Did I ever tell you I had a brother?"

"No."

"You know," She smiled bitterly. "All these stories can be told in the question. I _had_ a brother. You should know how that ends."

"Did he—did Sirin—?"

She nodded. "I had graduated college and he—Adam— was just a boy, just 17 years old. They came right before his birthday and told him he either went with them or got a bullet in the heads of everyone in the house. Of course he left, he was too perfect a human to not. I never heard from him again." Smoke curled from her lips. "That's why I joined Cobb and I suppose that's why he let me. He saw that I played the game for revenge and since he was too, he knew that it was the strongest motivator and the most unstoppable."

"I—I'm so sorry—"

"It's alright, darling. It happened a long time ago. But not that long, mind you, I'm still quite young."

"I'd say different." A voice came from the door as it swung open and Eames walked in, followed by Arthur.

"You're still mad, are you?" Pandora said, smiling. "And how was your playtime, boys?"

"It went better than expected." Arthur said, sitting at the table.

"Well," Pandora stubbed out her cigarette. "Tell us all about your new friend."

"His name is Oliver Samal; he's a Russian immigrant. He creates compounds that work on the REM state of sleep; this is important to us because REM has the greatest dream potential. When you sleep, your brain goes into a state called REM atonia, which is essentially total body paralysis. Some people wake up and can't move, like they're trapped inside their body. Samal's creations work awfully similar, except it traps the target inside their dream."

"What? He can do that?" Ariadne asked.

"He found a way." Eames said solemnly. "He created a compound that acts as a paralyzer on the primary visual cortex, which is heavily associated with the REM state. Think of it as watching a repeated show or even as pausing a song; the rest of the track is there, you just haven't reached it."

"He can pause a dream?"

"Close, love, but not quite; you've only got the scaffolding so far. Samal can continue the dream in an infinite landscape without aggravating the target's conscious."

"English, please." Pandora huffed.

"He can fool the target into continuing a dream without their conscious attacking us, even if we provoke them." Arthur said.

"I'd like to meet dear Ollie." Pandora said musingly. "Got some problems I need him to solve."

"Why didn't you go with us?"

"Well I didn't have the problem yet." She answered with a wink.

* * *

The four walked solemnly down a narrow street, Ariadne walking closely beside Arthur to avoid the tension between Eames and Pandora.

"Could they have made this any more awkward?" She asked quietly.

Arthur smiled. "It's been plenty more awkward before."

"Really?"

"Of course. Once, in Dresden, Eames was left with only one shirt and Dora shrunk it in the wash with all the reds so it came out pink and two sizes too small."

Ariadne laughed. "I didn't know this was a contest."

"Well, that happened before I really came on board. They're the definition of a love hate relationship, that's for sure."

"It's not like Eames helps."

"It takes two to tango. Pandora can be very childish sometimes as well."

"I just hope she isn't like that when we go to Sirin." She muttered.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He asked, glancing to her. "You don't have to."

She looked at him solemnly. "Yes, I do."

* * *

**I know it's been ages since I updated, but please review! As much as I appreciate this being added to alerts, it doesn't hold the same motivation as a review does.**


	20. The Alchemist

**"The dread of vanished shadows -Are they so? **  
**Is not the past all shadow? -What are they? **  
**Creations of the mind? -The mind can make **  
**Substances, and people planets of its own **  
**With beings brighter than have been, and give **  
**A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh."**

**The Dream - Lord Byron**

* * *

The store was much like Ariadne had pictured an alchemist's workshop to be like. It was as if she had stepped back in time, but couldn't decide which era she wanted to stay in. Long dark ladders lined simple wooden shelves, upon which sat bottles of every color and size, clean and shining. The floors creaked when she stepped on them, yet there was a cash register at a counter, complete with a credit card scan.

A boy with dark curly hair was standing on a ladder near the back, restocking the shelves and taking time to polish each bottle so the label shined. He turned his head as the bell at the door sounded.

"Einen sekunde, bitte." He said, holding up a finger before placing another bottle and stepping off the ladder, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Excuse me." Pandora called. "We're looking for a Mr. Samal?"

"Dora." Eames called, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Sprechen zie Englisch?" She asked and Eames sighed.

"Dora, that's him."

"What? Is he behind the boy?"

"No, he _is_ the boy."

Pandora looked at him and made a surmising face. "You didn't say he was this young."

"I'm 24." The boy spoke. He had less of an accent than Ariadne expected; he also looked far younger than he claimed to be.

"Are you?" Pandora asked with a smile and Ariadne noticed a faint blush creep into his face; Pandora knew exactly what game she was playing. "Bit _too_ young for me I'm afraid. But I was wondering if you could help me with a problem I'm having. You see, my friends came in here earlier—" She motioned to Eames and Arthur and the boy nodded. "And they told me what you could do."

"And what is it that I can do?" He asked her and behind the group, Arthur smirked. Samal was modest, not to mention clever; he didn't want to give himself away to a stranger.

Pandora produced a gold coin marked with symbols Ariadne couldn't identify. "You can get me what I want."

Samal seemed stunned for a moment then remembered himself. He took the coin delicately as if it would shatter and looked at her.

"Follow me." He said, walking to the back of the store. Without hesitation, he reached up to a large bottle marked with symbols similar to the coin and pulled it upwards, causing a door disguised as a shelf to swing open.

As Ariadne followed Arthur through the door, she squinted at the sudden light. The hallway behind it was illuminated with bright hanging lights, the floor made of perfectly brushed metal. It forked off in either direction, both ends indistinguishable in shadow.

"A moment, please." Samal said, diverting to the left.

"Dora, where the hell did you get that?" Eames exclaimed the moment he disappeared.

"None of your concern, darling."

"Of course it bloody well is! How did you get that?" He repeated.

"I found it." She replied coolly.

Eames rolled his eyes. "Don't say you 'found it' like you're Charlie fucking Bucket and the fucking golden ticket to the goddamn Chocolate Factory! Do you know how suspicious that sounds?"

"I did find it you pottymouth and I know that you know full well it's the fucking golden ticket to the goddamn Chocolate Factory."

"Think of the consequences." Arthur said calmly.

"I know the consequences." Pandora said, her eyes narrowing. "Contrary to what you two think, I'm not stupid. I'm not going blindly into this."

"We don't think you're stupid, so don't act like it." Eames sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Wait, what's going on?" Ariadne asked, finally voicing her question. "What was that?"

"That was the key to taking down Grieg." Arthur muttered.

"Nothing like a vague answer to my question…"

"It's known as the Magis Signo." Pandora said. "The Magic Coin."

"What does it have to do with us?"

Pandora looked to her as if it were obvious. "It has everything to do with us."

"But why?"

"The Magis Signo was created in the golden age of alchemy." Eames answered. "It was initially used for iatrochemistry—medical use." He added at Ariadne's confusion. "Alchemy, in principle, is about achieving ultimate wisdom through change. That coin that _darling _Dora here forgot to mention she had is the key to unlocking any wisdom or knowledge you want it to. It sounds farfetched, I know, but so does going into people's dreams. If Grieg got his hands on it—"

"He won't." Pandora said solemnly.

"Oh for fuck's sake—" Eames ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Did it ever occur to you that that coin you just handed over to a stranger could mean our life or death?"

Pandora opened her mouth to retort but stopped as a door opened and closed on the other end of the hallway. The sound of footsteps echoed down to them before Oliver Samal appeared once more.

"Where's the coin?" Eames asked and Samal turned his dark eyes to him before reaching a hand in his pocket and producing the coin.

"May I have it back, please?" Pandora asked and Samal looked at her a moment before placing the coin in her palm. "Thank you."

Samal nodded. "Come. We need to talk."

They followed him down the dark hallway and he opened the door to a dimly lit room. Ariadne smelled a faint mixture of ginger and cinnamon snaps.

"Why does it smell like strawberry shortcakes?" Pandora asked, looking around.

"It's a compound I'm working on." Samal said, clearing off a table. "It smells different to everyone; whatever smell is most pleasing to them. It triggers a subconscious response of comfortability. Clearly, it's working."

"Clearly…" Pandora echoed.

"What do you smell?" Arthur asked quietly, turning to Ariadne.

"Cinnamon and ginger snaps. You?"

Arthur inhaled slowly.

"Laundry detergent."

"Oh, shocking." She muttered and he smiled then elbowed her in the side.

"No, wait." He bent down and smelled her shoulder. "It smells like you."

"What?"

"Like mint and laundry detergent."

"I don't suppose you smell like ginger snaps then?" She asked, taking his sleeve in her hand and sniffing it. "Nope, men's cologne."

"Maybe you should get in the perfume market. I bet people are dying to smell like an old woman."

She elbowed him back.

"Please, sit." Samal said, motioning to the chairs he had set up. Once everyone had taking their seats, he looked at all of them with his dark eyes. His gaze rested on Ariadne for a moment, a puzzled look crossing his face before he moved on. "What exactly is it that you need from me? You come here with the Magis Signo, knowing full well that it is not something to be taken lightly."

"To be fair here," Eames spoke up. "We didn't know she had it."

"You didn't tell them?" Samal looked to Pandora. "Why?"

"I wanted to show you first," She said unapologetically. "And see what you thought of it."

"And what is it that I can help you with?"

Pandora's eyes centered in on him and she inhaled deeply. "I want you to extend a dream, without collapsing it, long enough for me to infiltrate a certain important target and bring him down."

"You want me to kill someone in their dream? That will just wake them up or send them to limbo, surely you know that."

"No," Pandora's eyes glinted. "I want to be the one to do that. I want you to kill him in real life."

She was met with the outrage of Eames and the protests of Arthur but Oliver Samal merely stared at her, a smile slowly appearing on his face.

"I don't know what stories you've heard about me, but I am certainly not a killer for hire."

"No," Pandora smiled back slyly. "But you used to be, weren't you?"

Samal blinked, the smile disappearing. "I took a vow to never spill any untainted blood again, and no amount of Magic Coins you possess can change my mind."

"Very well. Will one Magic Coin change your mind if you've seen what he has done? If you know the monster behind the man? I'm curious…what's your policy on murderers?"

Samal looked to her, assessing her. "I will think about it." He glanced to Ariadne once more before he stood. "Please come by later, when I'm not working. I'm sure you understand that it's safer if I'm not implicated here."

"Of course." Pandora smiled. "Goodbye, Mr. Samal, until we see you next."

He waited until they were almost out of the door to speak.

"Goodbye."

* * *

A half hour later, the foursome at a table outside a café, idly watching the passerby.

"You never told me what it smelled like to you in Ollie's workshop." Pandora said to Eames, pinching a lemon so it dripped into her tea.

Eames glanced at them briefly.

"It was nothing." He said, looking at his watch and standing. "I have to go and meet someone."

"Who?" Arthur asked.

"No one of importance."

"When will you be back?" Ariadne asked.

"Later, perhaps." Eames replied, beginning to walk away. "And Dora?" He paused and turned to her. "I smelled Bois des Îles." He turned and walked away without another glance.

Pandora smiled, stirring her tea. "I knew it." She muttered.

"Why?" Ariadne asked.

"Well, that happens to be the perfume I wear."

Ariadne suddenly startled, spilling some of her drink.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"I knew I had seen you before!" Ariadne exclaimed, looking at Pandora, who made a face of bemusement.

"And where have you seen me before, because I don't recall seeing you." She said with a smile.

"On my first case, with Robert Fischer. We were in the second level of the dream, when we were explaining Mr. Charles and Eames—he walked by as you."

"As me?" Pandora laughed. "Well, I'm flattered. Artie, tell me, why did he do that?" She asked, looking to him.

"You already know." He answered plainly.

"Well of course I do! Mr. Charles is one of the oldest tricks in the book…but why me?"

"I think it's obvious why he chose to imitate you."

"Yes, I rather think so too." She said then sighed, looking out into the street. "Imitation is, after all, the sincerest form of flattery."

* * *

Ariadne lay on the bed, staring up at the starry ceiling. She felt the bed dip beside her as Arthur sat down.

"You know," He said, kicking his shoe off. "Something's been bothering me, about Pandora."

"Shoot."

"Why did she not tell us that she had the Magis Signo?"

"I don't know. Maybe she thought you would try to talk her out of it."

"Of course I would have." Arthur admitted. "But still…we're on the same side."

"Maybe she wanted to get Grieg out of the way before we knew about it to save us. Maybe she thinks something's up with Sirin."

"It all just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And now, the million dollar question: Who is Oliver Samal? I mean, how can she trust him to do what he says he will?"

"He didn't strike me as a really mysterious figure. Pretty straightforward."

"When you work in this field as long as he seems to have, you either get good at acting or you end up with no other options than an early grave."

"You are a good actor, right?" Ariadne asked with a hint of worry.

He looked at her and grinned. "I should win Oscars."

He lay down beside her, winding her fingers with his.

"I don't feel fantastic about letting them have you again." He said, staring up at the ceiling with her. "I know Pandora will be with you, but still…it sets me on edge."

"I'll take that as a good thing."

"Why?" He asked, turning to her as she looked at him.

"Well, because it means someone will want me back."


	21. Bells

"**I would recall a vision which I dreamed  
Perchance in sleep -for in itself a thought,  
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,  
And curdles a long life into one hour."**

**The Dream – Lord Byron**

* * *

The door to the shop opened and closed, the bell ringing quietly.

"We need to talk."

Oliver Samal glanced upwards from the counter to see two very grim looking customers. He remembered them well; Arthur and Eames, the American and the Brit.

"Certainly." He said, setting down the rolls of coins he was sorting. "What about?"

"Do you remember the two women that were with us yesterday?"

The face of the girl, the younger one, flashed in his mind. "Yes." He answered quietly.

"They were taken by Sirin. You know the name, yes?"

"Yes." He answered again. He looked from one man to the other. It was obvious what they wanted. "You want me to help you get them back."

Arthur nodded.

"Why were they taken, if you don't mind my asking?" Oliver asked, straightening up as he placed the coin rolls back into the counter. "It was to my understanding that Sirin never took hostages that were unwarranted."

"They were insurance…Guarantees that we could get back one of ours because we had one of theirs, who is actually ours as well." Arthur answered coolly.

"Pawns?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment. "Yes."

"You had me fooled then." Oliver admitted. "I thought the blonde was a rather convincing leader."

"Yeah, she likes to think that." Eames muttered.

"They aren't important now." Arthur said. "But they will be if we can't get them back."

Oliver reached below the counter for a moment and when he straightened up he held a gun in his hand.

"What the hell—?" Eames stepped back.

"You lied to me." Oliver said, exhaling heavily. "You said the two women were pawns. I followed you, after you left, although, judging by your faces, I assume you didn't realize. I had to know if I could trust you, see?" His eyes darted to each of them before he spoke, his voice low and calm. "I know the girl is an Architect, and I know that the other is a spy. Those do not sound like pawns. So, if you want me to help you tell me the truth, and I advise you do it now."

"Can I ask you a favor first?" Arthur asked calmly, his hands raised halfheartedly.

"You may."

Arthur smirked. "Can you wake up for me?"

Oliver's eyes widened before the lights were extinguished and the scene went dark.

* * *

Ariadne awoke with a start. A cold sweat had gathered on her face from where she lay against a cold brick wall. She had a faint headache, like the reverberations of a rung bell. Whatever room she was in was dark, lit only by a small light in the ceiling.

"I see you're finally awake." A voice spoke from the darkness.

She scrambled up, startled. Her knees instantly bucked and she collapsed. The bell rung in her head again, sending painful echoes through her head.

"Careful." The voice said. "You're still sedated. It will wear off in a few minutes."

"Where am I?"

"Sirin Headquarters. If you want to get specific, the holding cell."

"Did I come in with anyone? I mean, did you see another woman in here, a blonde?"

"Blonde?" The voice paused. "Red dress?"

"Yes." Ariadne sighed in relief. "Was she here?"

"She was the one that dropped you in here." The voice chuckled. "You placed your trust in the wrong person. Take heart; you're not the first."

"Who are you?"

There was a rustle movement then a man leaned forward, his face hollowed by the shadows and age. His clothes, outdated by a few years, and his salt and pepper speckled beard indicated that he was not unfamiliar with belonging to Sirin.

"My name is Dante, and I've been waiting a long time for you to get here."

* * *

"You tricked me twice." Oliver said quietly from his seat at the table, the PASIV device blinking in front of him in mockery. "That doesn't happen often."

"Sorry, but knowing your history, we decided not to take the chance." Arthur said from the corner of the room, half covered in darkness.

"You weren't the only one to do some research." Eames said, throwing a folder of paper down on the table. "What our spy said to you was interesting. You were a killer for hire, operating in Moscow, weren't you?"

"Yes." Oliver admitted quietly. His eyes darted to a dark man in the corner, reading a newspaper quietly. "Who is he?"

"That's Yusuf," Eames said, glancing back. "Our expert in sedatives."

"I didn't see him before."

"He's been here in Berlin the whole time. Slipped under your radar, did he?"

"There's no need to be hostile." Oliver said calmly. "I want the same things you do."

"We know that." Arthur said, stepping forward. "And I'd just like to apologize for our resident Forger. Sometimes he can bite, but don't worry; he's on a leash." He ignored Eames' indignant stare.

"It's fine. I've dealt with ill-disposed clients before."

"Who said we were clients?" Arthur asked, his brow knitting.

"You offered the Magis Signo." Oliver said with a smirk. "You don't do that unless you want something in return."

"To be clear," Eames said. "We didn't offer it. Dor—our spy—did. What she does is independent of us."

"You said you needed my assistance. The spy offered me the coin in exchange for the disappearance of someone important."

"We do need your help," Arthur admitted. "But not for what you're known for."

"Well, it's not like we'd need him for that, Artie," Eames said darkly, turning away. "If we did need a disappearance, you could take care of that all on your own, couldn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur asked, turning around.

"Why must you ask these questions when you know the answer perfectly well?" Eames said, his tone acidic.

"I didn't kill for money."

"Why did you do it then?" Eames asked as he turned to face him, his face pinching in anger.

"I did it for reasons greater than you could ever imagine." Arthur said, his voice cold. "I did it to protect those who didn't have the means to do it themselves!" His voice was rising, like ice melting. "What did you ever do it for? Money? Power? What do I care for any of those things?"

"Why _don't_ you care? Any normal person in this world cares for something! What do you even care for? Rolls of blueprints, forming plans, architecture? Those aren't things that a_ human_ typically cares for!"

"So, what, you're saying I'm not human—?"

"No, you're not!" Eames burst out. "You're not at all, Arthur! Cleverness and logic? Those aren't things that define a human! You need greater things; cravings, sadness, _anger _for Christ's sake! I've never once seen you lose your head over things I've seen men kill for!"

"Because maybe I've had the foresight to see what it leads to! The few times I've acted out of instinct were the worst mistakes of my life! They trapped me into this life, and what do you think that proved to me? The risks didn't outweigh the consequence."

"You only did it for Cobb, Arthur." Eames' voice had turned to an icy quiet. "The only time you ever lay your arse on the line was for him. Never for any of us. Never for me or Mal or Ariadne—"

"What the hell do you think I'm doing now?" Arthur barked. "What do you think all this is for?" He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair, his composure returning like a rush of blood to a sleeping limb. "It's all for her."

"Well you better show her that, and you do it soon." Eames said, his anger usurped by an unsettling calmness. "Otherwise, she won't know, and you could lose her. Forever."

Arthur didn't feel the need to point out that Eames was speaking out of experience, not prophecy. It was more than obvious.

"I'm glad you two got that out of the way." Yusuf said calmly, not looking up from his newspaper. "I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen. Now," He glanced up at the pair. "Will you put your tensions aside, if only until we figure out how to get Ariadne back?"

"Fine." Arthur said, glancing at Eames, his jaw taut.

"Fine." Eames agreed.

"Good." Yusuf said, laying down the paper. "Now, Mr. Samal, if you don't mind, we have much to discuss."

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I can't tell you how much it means to me that you did; it makes me so much happier to see them than alerts.**


	22. Doubt

**"And so and now I'm sorry I missed you**  
**I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain**  
**It went the dull and wicked ordinary way**  
**It went the dull and wicked ordinary way**  
**And now I'm sorry I missed you**  
**I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain**

**I think this place is full of spies"**

"**Secret Meeting" – The National**

_**For actressen and Kayley Taylor**_

* * *

Ariadne stared curiously at the old man in the cell.

"What do you mean you've been waiting for me?" She asked.

"I've had dreams about you, Ariadne." The man moved to stand, his knees shaking as he walked over to her. The light hit his eyes, casting a shine over a blank surface.

"You're blind." She noted quietly.

"Yes, if you wish to call it that."

"Then how do you know who I am?"

"There are other ways of seeing than with your eyes." He answered enigmatically.

"What do you want with me?"

"I want to teach you things Sirin could never even dream of." He said, smiling at his words. "Architecture is only the beginning. I'm sure that by now you've realized you were meant for greater things? You must have overheard them all talking about you…how they all said you were special."

She thought of Pandora's words, spoken as her eyes shone with excitement._ "You are one of a kind, a Master Architect…you, darling, are special. You have been given a great gift."_

"Surely they must have said something." Dante said quietly, waiting for her answer.

"_You've always been special…" _Arthur's voice reached her through the murkiness of memory, calm and even. _"I'm saying you're __powerful__. That's why Grieg wants you so badly, and that's why Cobb recruited you."_

"They said I was a Master Architect." She said, looking to him for his reaction.

"Ah, and who might these people be?"

"I—" She paused. Could she trust him with names? She didn't know anything about him; he may be an agent used to gain her trust, to get her secrets. "Friends. They were friends."

"Were?"

"Are—well—" She paused, not knowing how to answer properly. They were her friends, but he didn't have to know that.

"In this life, mädchen, you must know who your friends are."

The nickname made her shiver.

"Did Grieg use it?" Dante asked and she nodded before realizing he couldn't see it.

"Yes." She answered.

"My apologies. I know he addresses new recruits as such. I won't use it again."

"No, it's—it's fine."

"I would still like to keep as much distance as possible between myself and Grieg. I am, if nothing else, a gentleman." He said and Ariadne smiled.

"Now, Araidne, we must begin our first lesson."

"Lesson?"

"Yes. You are going to tell me of your memory of how you got here, beginning with the morning of two days ago, when I assume you were taken."

"Two days?" She startled. "I've been here for two days?"

"Dreams do make time fly, don't they?" He said knowingly. "You came in here around twilight yesterday and the journey here is by no means short, about a day's travel."

She stared at him a moment. "How can I trust you?" She asked quietly.

"Do you have any other offers to get you out of here?" He said with raised eyebrows. "Here, I will tell you why I want to help you get out. It isn't all just being a good Samaritan, I'm afraid. I want to escape as well."

She didn't say anything, allowing him to continue.

"You see, I was once blessed with a loving wife, Anja and a son; I spent many happy years in their company as well as building dream landscapes for a company in Moscow that wanted to see the effect of architecture in advertising. I was taken by Sirin to help them battle some other corporation, Cobol I think it was called, on the eve of my grandson's birth. I barely even got to see his face or know his name. It's been just over two decades that I've been here. I want to get home to my family, to know my grandson, before I am called away permanently."

Ariadne looked at him a moment.

"How many lessons are there?"

Dante smiled. "It depends on how much you are willing to learn."

"Why do I have to remember? I thought dreaming was all about creation."

"It is, but I've found that to know your next step, you have to walk backwards." He leaned forward, his blank eyes shining. "Think back. What do you remember?"

She closed her eyes.

* * *

She stared out of the curtains at the morning light, filtering into the room in silvery blue rays, laying its fingers across the floor. Arthur's fingers softly grazed her shoulder.

He sighed.

In a few hours, she would no longer be with him, gone, taken into the vast excesses of Sirin Incorporated, untraceable and invisible, and with only Pandora to protect her. And it was all because she chose to. He didn't want her to leave, but it was only logical that she do so.

In what wasn't the first time in months, he wished Cobb was there. They were partners. If Cobb didn't have all the answers, he could lead Arthur to the ones he couldn't solve on his own.

"Normal humans don't wake up until the sun rises." Ariadne said, jolting him from his thoughts.

"Well we aren't normal, are we?"

The door next door opened and a loud noise echoed down the hall. Arthur scrambled up and out of the room; Eames stood at the door, unable to open it because Pandora had locked it from the inside.

"Dora, please take five seconds out of your beauty regime to open the door." He called.

"Like you don't take as long with yours—" A voice said from inside, muffled by the wall.

"What's going on?" Arthur asked and Eames looked at him.

"I am obviously returning from the meeting with someone I thought could help."

"Who did you talk to?"

"It's still none of your concern." Eames answered, brushing past him as Pandora opened the door. Arthur caught the smell of smoke, which usually meant Eames had held whatever meeting he had at a bar; how typical. Arthur rolled his eyes and walked in, followed by Ariadne as she shrugged on her jumper.

"Why must you always hide your plans, Eames?" Arthur asked irately. "It's not like we're the enemy here."

"Stop pretending that you don't have some skeletons in your closet, Arthur." Eames bit out. "We all know you've got something to hide."

"I don't have any skeletons." Arthur said, crossing his arms.

"Really? Ariadne, Artie here ever tell you he's killed before?" Eames asked coldly.

The room grew still.

"Sorry," Pandora said, stepping out of the bathroom in a blood red dress as she pulled her hair back. "What did I miss?" She looked to the group before comprehension spread over her face.

"Is that true?" Ariadne asked, looking to Arthur as he stared blankly at Eames.

"Of course it's bloody true." Eames answered. "When you deal in dreams as we do, sometimes you have to deal in blood."

"Arthur," Ariade said quietly. "Is he telling the truth?"

Arthur swallowed. It had only been a matter of time; the timer had struck zero. "Yes."

Pandora walked up slowly and placed a hand on Ariadne's shoulder. "I think it's time to go, love." She whispered gently. Ariadne looked to the floor.

"Wait." Arthur said, his eyes snapping to hers.

She stared at him a moment and he saw what he had always feared to see: hurt. Ariadne turned to leave.

"Wait, Ariadne—" He moved forward, but she was already out of the room.

"I'll be in touch." Pandora said grimly as she shut the door.

"_Dive deeper…"_ Dante's voice echoed around her.

She concentrated.

* * *

The train rocked side to side, the exterior calm, bleak and grey; a grim landscape washed out by dark rain. Ariadne stared out of the window blankly, the distorted, ambiguous scenery passing unregistered before her.

She had known, deep down. She had always known it was likely that he had killed before, but being suspicious and knowing the truth were two separate things. Why hadn't he told her before? Maybe he thought it had been obvious. Maybe he didn't want her to know, didn't trust her to know. If she hadn't forseen this, did she really even know him at all?

"I'm sorry you had to learn it that way, darling." Pandora said from the other side of the car, breaking Ariadne out of her thoughts. She shouldn't think too much on it, it would distract her. Her mind was swirling with doubt, the worst of poisons.

"When?" Ariadne asked, her voice quiet and pale. "When did he-?"

"It was before I knew them. I'm not really sure of the details, but from what I gather, a case of inception had gone wrong, and when the target awoke, he was quite…frustrated. Angry, violent, he attacked Cobb and Arthur put a bullet between his eyes."

"Was he the only one?"

For a moment, Pandora didn't answer.

"I don't think he was."

A sigh escaped Ariadne, but Pandora mistook it for a sob.

"Oh, darling, don't be upset." She said, moving to sit beside her. "We both know Arthur. I'm sure that whatever he did, he did it because he had no other alternative—" She startled as the train whistled. "Oh damn, we're here." She stood, straightening her skirt. "Get ready, love. The kick should be coming."

She took Ariadne's hand as they fell backwards into reality.

Ariadne opened her eyes.

* * *

Pandora sighed, staring out of the window.

She was thinking about him. She always did, when she had the time. How could she ever forget what had happened?

"_Adam?"_

The door was always open in her memory. That's how she knew something unanticipated had happened. Adam would never leave a door open.

"_Dora?"_

His voice, his answer, would always haunt her. He sounded scared; his voice had trembled with fear. She had rushed into their living room, and he had been on his knees, hands held behind his head, resting just behind a gun pointed to his temple. She had frozen in her place, unable to talk or react. She had left the gun she always carried in Adam's care, even though she knew he would never use it. She had meant to get a replacement soon.

"_They—they said I have to go with them or they'll kill you and make me watch."_

Her voice had been a cracked whisper_. "Where?"_

"_Bratislava and then St. Petersburg." _The man with the gun answered._ "That's all you need to know."_

"_I'm so sorry."_

_They both had said it at the same time—_

"What are you doing?" Brer asked from the doorway, dispelling her remembrance and scattering it into pieces.

"Nothing." She paused as his face flashed in her mind one last time, pale and frightened. "Nothing at all."

"Alright, come on then. We've got work to do."

She followed him out of the room, masking her hatred and disgust for him.

She played the game for revenge and she would get it, for it had been Brer holding the gun to her brother's head.

Vengeance would be hers, just as Cobb had promised.

* * *

**You all have been so wonderful about reviewing! I can't express how happy it makes me and I cannot believe this story has nearly 300 reviews! This is crazy! Thank you all for the love!**


	23. Janus

"**Now fraud, that eats away at every conscience,  
is practice by a man against another  
who trust in him, or one who has no trust.****"**

_**- Dante's Inferno**_

* * *

Dante's lessons had made her stronger, had given her faith that she could wait until Eames and Yusuf and Arthur came. Day by day, he had revealed small, trivial things to her and she to him. She knew he loved the taste of slightly burnt bread; he knew she liked the smell of old books. They had formed a tentative trust.

"What do you think he looks like?" Ariadne asked one night as they were quietly eating the little rations they had been provided between their lessons. "Your grandson, I mean."

Dante paused, thinking as he chewed his bread. "I think he looks like my wife. In the minute or so that I actually saw him, he looked as if he had blonde hair and brown eyes, but of course that is all subject to change."

"What does your wife look like?"

"Oh," He said softly, light entering his eyes. "Anja always had the most beautiful curly hair. I always thought it was the color of black coffee that we had in the morning. I would wake up and eat with her and every time I looked into the cup, I was reminded of her hair. I still am." He said, exhaling heavily as he looked into the cheap cup that held the dredges of their morning's coffee. "Do you know what I find odd?"

"What?"

"Even in the most inhuman of situations, there is always coffee. In the second World War, my brother was a solider for the Soviets. Through a series of missteps and bad luck, he found himself in the concentration camp Bergen-Belsen, where he said they had coffee every morning. Later, when he was sent to the gulags in Siberia he said there was also coffee there."

"He went to both?"

"Well, after the war Stalin wouldn't allow the Soviet soldiers back into their homes. He said they might have been brainwashed or sleeper agents or spies, so instead he sent them to the gulags, which were at the same time better than the camps and worse. My brother said he saw men become animals twice in his life and he'd die a happy man if there was never a third."

"How did he get out?"

"He was released." Dante shrugged. "His sentence was fulfilled. Of course after that he could never have a high profile job, but he made do with what he had, and he is a very content man—"

They stopped suddenly at the knock on the door. Both looked to each other.

"Should I answer it?" Ariadne asked.

"No," Dante answered, his eyes sharp. "Wait for them to come in."

The door swung open.

"Pandora." Ariadne said in relief.

The woman looked to her and jerked her head, indicating they were not alone as Brer followed her in. Ariadne hid the scowl on her face.

"Hello, residents." Brer said cheerfully, as if they weren't in a makeshift jail. "How's your stay going?" He was met with silence and he frowned. "Dora and I are here for some questions."

"What kind of questions?" Dante asked, stepping forward.

"Questions you won't be present for." Brer said with an odd happiness. "Take him." He nodded to the guard, who wrapped his arms around Dante's frail frame and dragged him from the room. "I think it's best if you leave too, Dora." He added quietly.

"No, Brer, it's in our interest that I remain here." Pandora replied, her tone clipped and annoyed. "We don't want you spoiling our collateral."

"I won't _spoil_ her, Dora." Brer sighed. "Now, please, be a good girl and leave us alone."

"But I—"

"_Leave._" An icy coldness had entered his voice, threatening and deadly. When he spoke next, his voice was calm and quiet. "Or do I have to ask again?"

Pandora looked to Ariadne.

"You have five minutes before I alert Grieg." She said, her voice every bit as threatening as Brer's.

"Goodbye."

"Fuck you." She spat as she closed the door.

Brer turned to Ariadne and smiled lazily.

"Don't worry." He said, his eyes turning dark. "You can trust me."

* * *

Arthur sat with his head in one hand as Yusuf disconnected him from the PASIV device. Oliver had offered his labs in the back of his store as a temporary base for their group and they had hastily strewn about their standard lawn chairs in an effort to teach him their ways.

It was not going as quickly as he had hoped.

"Your projections could sense me." Oliver said as he sat up on the opposite chair, his eyes knitted in curious bemusement. "How?"

"I have an above-average conscious. I know what to expect." Arthur answered, exhaling heavily. "This isn't going to work on Grieg. He's smarter than I am. He'd figure it out instantly."

"What do you suggest?" Oliver asked.

"Practice makes perfect…but it's not exactly like we have the time on our hands for that." Eames pointed out.

"We have to find a way for you to be unnoticeable." Arthur said quietly. "Yusuf, are there any solvents when can use—?" He asked, wandering over to where Yusuf sat complacently at his computer.

Eames watched him for a moment, then walked over to Oliver and sat in the lawn chair across from him.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, looking at the boy. "I can tell it's not for the money—and you don't know these girls—yet you're risking your life. Why?"

Oliver stared at him for a moment before he spoke. "Haven't you risked your life before for reasons you could never explain afterwards?"

Eames felt, not for the first time, that this boy somehow knew every detail about him. It was absurd and unexplainable and utterly—

"Impossible."

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted the challenge and make no mistake for it is certainly a challenge. I mean, to make oneself invisible, untraceable in a dreamscape…" His dark eyes glittered with excitement. "I would never have thought it possible before you all came here."

"There's one question that's been bugging me, mate."

"What would that be?"

"Where's your accent?" Eames asked, looking into the boy's dark eyes. "You say you're from Moscow and, considering your age, you must have been there for a while."

"What makes you say that?"

"No one moves to an unfamiliar place when they're twenty-four."

"Where were you at my age?"

"Me?" Eames raised his eyebrows. "I was at the pub, trying to get a date."

Oliver smiled. "That was never my _scene_, as you'd call it…" He paused, sifting through his thoughts. "I don't think I have an accent because I don't think I was born in Russia."

"You don't know?"

Oliver looked at him with a solemn face. "I don't remember." He admitted quietly. "It's like my life began at 17."

"Why 17?"

"That's the most recent birthday I can remember."

"Interesting."

"May I ask you a question now?" Oliver asked and Eames nodded. "When were the two women taken?"

Eames looked up to Arthur, busy in conversation with Yusuf as he pointed at something on the computer screen.

"Remember that meeting we had?" He said lowly. "The one at the bar?"

"With my friend? Yes."

"Right, well it was the morning afterwards. And, to be clear, they weren't taken; they went willingly."

"But that was nearly three days ago. They could be anywhere."

"Well, see, the good and yet bad thing is that Sirin only operates out of one place, and we know where it is."

"Why is that bad?"

"Because Sirin has always been very adept at handling intruders. We know how to get in perfectly well, but how to get in to Grieg…that's a whole different game."

"So we are just waiting for me to perfect the sedatives?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

Oliver stood, a solemn look on his face.

"Then I will do so as soon as possible." He said, then turned and walked back to his lab without another word.

Once more, Eames felt that just as he grew familiar to Oliver's behavior, the boy changed it, as if he didn't want to be figured out or analyzed by anyone.

And he wondered, once more, how they could place their trust in a boy who felt he always needed to change his faces when one grew too old.


	24. Ice

**"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil." - Aristotle**

* * *

Ariadne stirred slowly, dredging her thoughts out of the murky sludge of unconsciousness. Her head ached, her lip was split and she could feel a cut on her cheek sting as she pulled herself off of the cold floor.

"Leave us." A woman's voice ordered through the fog. "Shut the door."

There was a great bang as the steel door was shut. She felt as if it had been shut on her head.

"Ari?" The voice had turned soft. "Ariadne, it's me, Dora."

A warm hand rubbed her back. Through cracked eyes she saw a vague, blurry Pandora kneeling beside her, peering at her with a worried expression.

"Shit." Pandora whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; this is all my fault."

"What happened?" Ariadne asked. Her voice was brittle from a parched throat.

"I gave Brer five minutes with you, but the bastard already knew I would intervene. He sent someone from Grieg to distract me. You were with him for over an hour."

"Does…does he know you're a—"

"No." Pandora said, shaking her head. "He doesn't have a clue. I've seen napkins smarter than him." Pandora looked at her for a moment. "Are you alright?"

"I think so. He—well—he roughed me over, but I'm fine."

"Here." Pandora handed her a handkerchief. "It's the least I can do."

"Thanks." Ariadne dabbed it to her swollen lip. She should be surprised that someone still carried them but because that person was Pandora, she wasn't.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"After you left?" She asked and Pandora nodded. "He—he asked me where Eames and Arthur were, what they were planning, and when they were going to do it. When I didn't tell him anything, like he knew I would, he took out this—this device—"

"Did it look like a tape recorder?"

"You know about it?"

Pandora nodded. "Here it's called VERRA. It's like the PASIV, but five times smaller and five times more powerful. It scans the brain for significant spikes in activity. It looks for memories and particularly emotional experiences."

"Where did _this_—" She indicated the blood on the napkin. "Come from?"

"You must have fought back." Pandora said, glancing at Ariadne's split lip and cut cheek. "One of the symptoms of VERRA's use is temporary memory loss. It usually occurs at the moment of VERRA's implantation and tapers off at its withdrawal."

"So I won't know what he found? Or if he even found anything?"

"I'm afraid not. You may not get your memory back for hours or days; it may never come back. If I hear anything new, I'll know he got it from you and I'll tell them it's a false trail I overheard you lot talking about. Brer can't deny something he didn't witness."

"Thank you."

There was a knock at the door and Pandora stood. Light spilled into the room, seeming to Ariadne like she was looking at the sun, and a figure was pushed in.

"You!" A voice said, accusing and angry.

"You've got this?" A dark voice said. Ariadne assumed it was the guard.

"Yes. The man's blind, he doesn't know me from a hat rack." Pandora answered and the door shut to merciful darkness.

"Dante, it's okay!" Ariadne called. "I'm fine!"

"Why is she here?" He asked, a chill evading his voice.

"She's—well—"

"Sirin is not my only client." Pandora said smoothly. "I have employers that want to see Ariadne survive this ordeal."

"It's unlikely if this is the way you treat her." Dante spat.

Pandora looked to Ariadne. When she spoke, her voice was hard but her eyes were apologetic. "I will send for medical help shortly."

With one last glance to Ariadne, Pandora left, her blonde hair swinging behind her.

Dante wordlessly sat down beside Ariadne. "You've got a bite mark above your heart." He said softly, pointing to a wound she hadn't even noticed.

She glanced down at the swollen bite, undoubtedly from human teeth. A sickening sense of violation rose in her like vomit, hot and painful. Brer had stolen her dreams and her memory. She might never know exactly what he had done to her.

"Are you alright?"

"Please—please just talk; talk about anything you want. It will distract me."

"If it helps you, I will." Dante said. "I can tell you how I lost my sight."

"Thank you." She sighed.

"I was working in Moscow, on one of my last cases." He began. "I was establishing a model I had created in the dream world when I became stuck in limbo briefly, very briefly. The sedative working on my client collapsed and his conscience attacked me; I fell back and struck my head. I didn't die, necessarily, but I wasn't alive either. Something happened between my journey from one plane to the other where I lost my vision, but it remained in the dream world."

"What does that mean?"

"I can see, but it is like opening your eyes underwater. For the first few weeks afterwards, I felt as if I was still trapped inside limbo; nothing felt real or tangible to me. Not the bread I ate, not the sunlight I felt on my skin, not the smell of my wife that always lingered around the house."

"How did you escape it? I mean, it just seems like you don't feel that way anymore."

A light seemed to enter his eyes.

"I began to dream again." He said with a smile.

"_What?_" Ariadne was amazed. She had not dreamed in days. She had begun to fear that the next dream would be her last, if it came at all.

"It first started as ambiguous gray matter, but then color slowly started to dye my dreams. It was as if a movie on pause had been resumed. I began to feel life again, to feel the blood rushing through my limbs and my heart and my head.

The first dream I remember as if I had woken up seconds ago. I was in front of a large door that stretched upwards and outwards as far as I could see. I couldn't scale it or blast through it, so I knocked. Anja greeted me and took me inside to a place that was white and warm. I couldn't see around me, but the feeling, it was—it was like lying under blankets in the cold weather. For the first time in months, I was content that I could no longer see, but I can always carry that warm feeling with me." He looked at her. "Are you feeling alright yet?"

"I feel alright now. Thank you."

"I am happy to help."

A silence fell between them.

"I haven't dreamed in days," Ariadne muttered quietly. "And Brer took my memory…" She looked up at Dante, her eyes desperate. "What if I never dream again?"

"But surely you know that dreams are sometimes randomly dealt? You don't strike me as being in this business for long. You either must first have attained a high mastery of the dreamscape so that your mind could not fool you into believing a dream or you must have used the PASIV device to a point where your mind was too distracted to dream."

"What if I will never have another?"

"Do you remember the most recent one?"

"I—" She stopped, thinking. She remembered the glancing pierce of Arthur's eyes and the color of blood and blonde all around her. "No. Not really."

"Then that dream was not your last." He said softly. "If you stay in this business, you will always remember your last dream. In mine, before the accident, it was snowing and I was barefoot. I could hear Anja calling my name to come inside. My son was a child again and he was playing with me in the yard. He went inside at his mother's voice, but when I tried to follow, the door slammed in my face and I woke up. That morning my bones felt like they were carved from ice."

"What if I just can't remember?"

"You will remember," He said soothingly. "Trust me."

She looked at him and smiled. "I do."

"You must not be afraid, Ariadne." He said reassuringly. "Every knot will unwind in the end."

* * *

Oliver Samal stared out of the train window. He found that trains were the most beautiful form of travel. He had always loved it, when he went with his parents and his sister on trips to Dover—

Okay, perhaps he had lied to the Forger, Eames. Perhaps only a little. It wasn't the worst thing he had done. Telling the Brit that he didn't remember his past was useful, and it threw him off his trail. He had to be careful, though; keep track of his stories. He couldn't have anyone figure him out. It was essential that no one should truly know him. He was untraceable that way; invisible.

He did have to hand it to Eames, though. He was far smarter and far cleverer than Samal had initially thought. Perhaps a bit cocky, a bit too confident, but certainly not stupid. He knew a fraud when he saw one.

The other one, Arthur, interested him as well. He was too quiet; it unsettled him. He knew that Arthur would be the one of the group to always have a card up his sleeve. He seemed to care for the girl, which certainly had its disadvantages. Caring for something made you reckless; it made you take extremes to save it. You fight for what you desire, and that fighting had consequences. Arthur seemed to know that well. Samal could tell there was something inside him that he was not willing to share with anyone. He had a dark side that he wanted to keep in the shadows. Understandable certainly; everyone had secrets. But, in Samal's experience, the darkness often swallowed you whole if you didn't let in a little light.

He was startled out of his thoughts as the dark man, Yusuf, nearly dropped his laptop. He was entering the data from the lab, soon to be available to those who knew where to look.

Samal had completed the sedative nearly thirteen hours ago. He had lay awake most of the night in his back room, void of everything but a bed, watching the ceiling fan turn the hot air. He didn't sleep much; he found it wasteful of his time. In those early hours he often thought of the life he had once led, the happy childhood he had spent with his sister, the only person he had ever truly cared for.

He would have to be reckless to get her back from the darkness. He would have to speak to Arthur about how to properly fight for what you care about.

* * *

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